


Beauty of Ice

by mytinystars



Series: Figure Skating Slices of Life [6]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Figure Skaters, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Oneshot collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rivalry, Sickfic, check chapter summaries for tw, requests open
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 100,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytinystars/pseuds/mytinystars
Summary: A collection of one shots centered around figure skating, because there should be more of that in this fandom!Updates paused for now!
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Im Changkyun | I.M, Chae Hyungwon/Lee Hoseok | Wonho, Im Changkyun | I.M/Lee Jooheon, Lee Minhyuk/Son Hyunwoo | Shownu, Lee Minhyuk/Yoo Kihyun, Son Hyunwoo | Shownu/Yoo Kihyun
Series: Figure Skating Slices of Life [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531790
Comments: 54
Kudos: 74





	1. Request Page

Hi! It’s been a while. Thank you for sticking around—it means a lot to me!

I’m a senior in high school and online learning is so much harder than I thought it would be. The Vampire Prince is a full-on novel, and it’s extremely plot heavy. Updates for this book are paused for now so I can focus on finishing school and allowing myself the time and energy to focus on TVP.

If I could rewrite this AU I’d use completely different ships ngl 😭 I want to write another skating AU with a different plot and different endgame ships, but that would take so much time to plan. If you request different ships, I absolutely will write them. My current favorites are JooKyun, ShowKi, KiHyuk, and HyungKyun, but I’m open to anything!

 **Requests are CLOSED until further notice.** If you have a request, write it down somewhere—I plan to open the requests back up eventually so don't forget a request if you have one!

Disclaimer that I reserve the right to refuse to write a request I'm not fond of. There's very little I'll refuse to write, but keep in mind I don't do smut or little space. I will write A/B/O and non-graphic mpreg. My AU, the one with Yerin, is A/B/O, but if you'd like to request something different, please specify, because A/B/O is not my default.

Also, I've gotten quite a few to do already, and since I try to pace myself with these so I don't burn myself out, I might not get to your request very quickly. Please be patient and enjoy what I have written so far!

Please bear in mind school is very hard for me this year so updates, when resumed, will be irregular. Thank you for being patient with me!

Come say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mytinystars)!


	2. First Steps (HyungWonho)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoseok and Hyungwon take Yerin ice skating for the first time ever. 
> 
> 2.7k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by The_colourfulMonster! Thank you for your request, lovely!

“Appa, where are we going?”

Hyungwon turns around in the passenger seat to look at Yerin, settled in her carseat in the back. He’d managed to wrestle her short hair into a tiny pigtail on the top of her head, and in season with the cooling warmth of late September, he’d convinced her to wear her cutest white sweater and grey skirt set and still manage to keep it a secret where they were taking her. She’s going to be three in less than three months, and he and Hoseok had both decided it was time to introduce her to the beauty of ice.

Hyungwon glances at Hoseok, who nods.

“We’re going to the ice arena, baby,” Hyungwon says.

Yerin cheers loudly, flailing in her carseat, and Hyungwon can’t fight back a smile. Both Hyungwon and Hoseok know she doesn’t have the slightest clue what an ice arena is. She’s been to the rink before, but that had been when she was an infant, confined to the straps of a stroller and unable to form words. They’d taken her with them when their friends had been unable to babysit, but she’d been so young at the time there’s no way she’d recall those days now.

Now she’s almost three, and she has all the questions in the world and she has all the energy to ask them. Hyungwon knows the wall of gold, silver and bronze medals in their home office will raise questions sooner rather than later, and he knows she’ll want to be part of that world.

Rather than go to the rink where Hyungwon and Hoseok spent years training, they’re going on a family outing to the public ice rink located in the northern part of their neighborhood of Seoul. Hyungwon had retired a little under a year ago and is also coaching at the Seoul Magnolia Ice Club, the arena where Hoseok, Jiyong, Kihyun, and all of their other friends work. With the exception of Jungkook, Changkyun and Jooheon, most everyone else at the club has retired; Jiyong and Yoongi have plenty of young, new students. Hyungwon doesn’t remember all of them, but he’s met Mark, Jongho, Chenle and Renjun. Hyungwon, Minhyuk, and Kihyun mostly coach younger kids, beginner skaters between the ages of four and ten. It’ll be awhile before Hyungwon can coach athletes of higher skill. The experience he’s gained from coaching beginner-level skaters is good to have—starting out is always the hardest, and he doesn’t expect this to be easy for Yerin.

Once at the public ice rink, Yerin wriggles happily in Hyungwon’s arms as he lifts her out of her booster seat, and as Hoseok retrieves their skates from the trunk of the car, he watches her fondly. They’re going to put her into her first skates for the first time, now that she’s finally big enough to wear them. Changkyun, Jooheon and Minhyuk had purchased the little skates while Hyungwon was pregnant with her. They’d been a complete surprise to Hyungwon, a surprise that brought him to tears, and they’d waited almost four long years to finally put them on Yerin’s feet.

In Hyungwon’s arms, Yerin giggles and points at random objects over Hyungwon’s shoulders as they head into the arena; he tells her to stay close to him once they find a spot to sit down and put their belongings. He’s thankful it isn’t very crowded today, but the arena, while smaller than the Seoul Magnolia, is still a huge building, with plenty of places for a three year old to get lost, and Yerin is nothing if not curious. He and Hoseok take turns watching her, and Hyungwon keeps one eye on her as he hastily ties his skates.

Yerin looks around the arena lobby in fascination while waiting, and once she notices what Hyungwon is doing, she stares, enthralled, at the slightly beat up black skates on his feet. She reaches out a curious finger to touch them, and he lets her. Hyungwon’s boots, while nearly four years old, are still beautiful, and he’s proud of how well he’s kept them. Along the sides of both boots is a trail of little blue rhinestones that curls from the side of the ball of the foot up to the ankle of the boot, and it’s these gems that have captured Yerin’s attention. She runs a finger along the spiral, eyes wide.

“Pretty!” she coos. Hyungwon smiles.

“Ready to put yours on?” Hoseok asks, dragging the purple and blue zuca over.

For her second birthday, she’d received the zuca from Kihyun and Hyunwoo, and her skates, untouched for almost four years, had resided in the zuca since then. At the time, she’d been a bit too young to understand what the bag was for, but Hyungwon is excited now that she’ll finally understand.

“What’s this?” Yerin asks, pointing at the zuca as Hyungwon lifts her up and sits her down on the bench.

She pokes at it curiously, and watches with her saucer-sized eyes as Hoseok pulls the shiny white skates out of the compartment.

“Woah!”

“This is a zuca,” Hoseok explains, helping Hyungwon pull her shoes off. “It holds your skates!”

He holds up the Jackson Excels, white with brown heels and soles. The tiny blades are protected by the green and purple blade guards, and the laces, soft and the color of lavender, are tied together.

Getting them on her feet isn’t painless, but Yerin cooperates as best she can. She complains when Hoseok ties them tightly—because she’s still so little, he has to wrap the laces once around the ankle for maximum security—but hushes when he explains that they have to be tight to protect her feet.

“What are these?” she asks, and Hyungwon dodges as she kicks out her foot.

“Careful,” murmurs Hyungwon. “These are your ice skates. The blades on the end are really sharp, okay? You have to be careful. Don’t touch them.”

“Okay,” she nods, staring at the blades in fascination.

Hoseok has her practice slipping the guards on and off a few times, but Hyungwon has the suspicion that they’ll be putting the guards on for her until she’s a little older. He tries to remember to pull out his phone and record; this is only the beginning of Yerin’s adventure, and he wants to remember it as much as he can when they’re all older.

“Ready to get on?” asks Hoseok once the skates are finally on. Yerin looks at the skates on her feet, and then looks at Hoseok with a blank look on her face. Hyungwon laughs; she looks so precious, with her little pigtail on the crown of her head, her white sweater, grey skirt and black leggings, her tiny pink gloves, and her little white skates with lavender laces.

“Come on,” Hyungwon says, holding his hand out. “We’ll help you.”

She steps onto the floor, takes a step, and promptly falls to her hands and knees.

“Woah!” she exclaims.

“You okay?” asks Hoseok, bending down to help her stand. “We’re gonna march, okay? Just like you’re walking.”

“March like a soldier,” Hyungwon supplies, and mimics marching once she’s standing up again.

Eventually she gets the hang of it, and while she doesn’t let go of Hoseok’s hand, she’s clearly excited as she half marches, half stumbles towards the ice.

Yerin isn’t clumsy—at least, she’s not overly clumsy for someone her age. She learned to walk fairly easily on her own. Being on the ice, however, is a different story entirely.

She’s younger than Hoseok and Hyungwon had been when they started skating—Hyungwon had been five, Hoseok had been six—so it’s understandable that she’s not quite as coordinated, but she’s like a noodle in Hoseok’s arms for the first ten or so minutes they spend on the ice. Every time she tries to get her feet under her, the blades slip out on the icy surface and Hoseok has to dive to catch her. Hyungwon glides around them gracefully, but Yerin slips and slides on the ice and Hoseok is using all of his strength to keep her up. Eventually he sends Hyungwon a look that clearly says, ‘help me,’ and Hyungwon skates towards them, laughing to himself.

“This is hard!” Yerin whines, and her skate slips from under her. Hoseok grunts a little as he grabs her arm to keep her upright.

“You take her,” Hoseok says to Hyungwon. “My back is killing me.”

“It’s only been ten minutes,” Hyungwon says, but he complies.

He takes Yerin’s hands and holds her arms above her head, and begins slowly gliding backwards, pulling her along with him. She squeals every time her skates slip, and Hyungwon does have to admit, it’s hard on his lower back in particular to keep her upright. When he glances back up at Hoseok, the older man has pulled out his phone, put it in his selfie stick, and is recording the spectacle. Hyungwon grins at the camera.

“Yerin!” Hoseok says, bending down to record her closer. “How is skating for the first time? Are you having fun?”

“The ice is slippery!” cries Yerin, and Hyungwon laughs.

“How about you, babe?” asks Hoseok, pointing the camera in Hyungwon’s direction. “It’s the lower back, right?”

“Pssh, it’s no big deal,” Hyungwon lies, grinning cheekily even though his back is killing him. “She’s a natural.”

And she is a natural. It doesn’t take her long to get the hang of it and soon enough she’s marching down the ice, pushing Hyungwon so he’s gliding backwards. Hoseok follows Yerin, recording the entire time. Hyungwon only has to stoop to grab her when she trips on her toepick, but Hoseok motions for him to let her fall sometimes. Hyungwon winces every time she drops to her knees or her bottom; she’ll definitely be a little bruised later, but he knows the sooner she learns how to fall and get back up, the better off she’ll be.

“Go away!” exclaims Yerin suddenly, and tries to wiggle her little gloved hands out of Hyungwon’s grip. “Let go!”

“What? _Go away?_ Why?” asks Hyungwon, concerned. He holds her hands tighter.

“I want to do it.”

“What? By yourself?”

“Yes!”

Skeptical, Hyungwon slowly and carefully lets go of her hands and backs away. She stands still for a moment, arms outstretched to keep her balance, then takes a tentative step forward. She makes the mistake of leaning back; immediately, her skate slips out from under her and she falls hard on her backside. Hyungwon winces, but the very moment he moves to help her back up, she crawls onto her knees and pushes herself back into a standing position, and Hyungwon is floored.

“Did she really just do that by herself?” Hoseok breathes, aghast.

Hyungwon doesn’t answer, watching her anxiously. Still standing with outstretched hands, Yerin looks at Hyungwon with big eyes and takes another cautious step. Miraculously, she doesn’t slip, and then she takes another step, and it’s just like watching her take her first steps all over again. Hyungwon crouches down and opens his arms, and Yerin laughs brightly, and begins marching towards him all by herself. He’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt by the time she runs into his arms, and her excited laughter brings tears to his eyes.

“You did it, baby!” he coos, kissing the top of her head. “You did it by yourself!”

Hoseok is also crying, he realizes, when he stands up with Yerin in his arms. The selfie stick in his hand is drooped towards the ice and his face is red and wet, but he’s smiling widely, and he kisses Yerin’s forehead.

They don’t stay at the rink very long, maybe about forty five minutes. She’s overdue for her nap by the time they decide to go home, and she curls against Hoseok as Hyungwon takes her skates off, watching him blearily. She’d taken a couple of painful tumbles, but got herself back up every time, and Hoseok did a few laps around the rink with her on his shoulders. Hyungwon considers taking her to an ice cream place or at least to get bingsu, but within five minutes of being placed into her carseat, she falls asleep, exhausted from the day’s events. He spends the whole car ride home watching the videos Hoseok took.

“We should surprise Jooheon,” Hoseok says softly, wary of the sleeping toddler in the backseat. “His birthday is in a few days. Imagine the surprise when she skates towards him.”

“I love that idea,” Hyungwon says. His heart warms at the thought.

“It’ll be time soon enough to get her into lessons,” Hoseok says.

Hyungwon nods, a little wistful. He’d been so excited to finally get her in her skates and on the ice, but she’s grown so quickly.

“They grow up fast,” he recalls his mother saying, when Yerin was just a baby. “Blink and you’ll miss it.”

He understands now what she means.

“How much longer are we going to wait?” Hoseok asks.

“That depends on who we want,” Hyungwon murmurs after a moment.

After a long discussion, Hyungwon and Hoseok had decided a while ago they weren’t going to be Yerin’s coaches, and that they’d ask one of their friends instead. Jiyong had been at the top of their list for a while, but while Hyungwon had been his student, he’d made the decision to only coach boys (for reasons still unclear to Hyungwon). Seokjin and Yoongi are currently coaching Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung at a rink in northern Pyeongchang. The three of them are, unfortunately, out of the question.

That leaves the rest of Hyungwon’s friends. Don’t get him wrong, all of their friends are good candidates to coach her. Minhyuk is iconic for being one of the only male skaters in the world to have a decent layback spin, which is a required element for female skaters, and Hyungwon is convinced Minhyuk loves Yerin more than he loves anyone else. Jooheon and Changkyun are also good candidates because of their fantastic jump technique—Jooheon’s axel and Changkyun’s salchow are their signature skills.

Jooheon will be turning twenty-nine in about four days, so he’s close to the end of his career. They’d been considering asking Jooheon to be her coach once he retires. The only problem is, Jooheon hasn’t given any indication as to when he plans to retire.

“We should ask Joo, sooner rather than later.” Hoseok says. “We can have Yerin skate towards him or something and have her ask him to coach her.”

“He’ll want us to enrol her in beginner classes,” Hyungwon argues.

Hoseok shrugs. “So we put her in Minhyuk’s class. By the time she’s four, she’ll be ready to go with Joo.”

“If we put her with Minhyuk, he’ll want to be her coach, too,” Hyungwon says.

Hoseok smiles. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. When she gets older, Joo can be her head coach and Minhyuk can work with her on spins.”

Hyungwon ponders. It’s not a bad idea. Of course, it’ll take a bit for such an easy plan to come into play. Jooheon hasn’t even retired yet, and Minhyuk is still working out his hourly pay. He hasn’t been coaching as long as Hoseok and Kihyun have been, so he only has a couple of private students, but he’s been coaching longer than Hyungwon, so he at least has more experience.

Hyungwon twists around in his seat to look at the little girl sleeping in the booster seat. She’s totally out cold, and Hyungwon glances at the clock above the AC controls on the car’s dashboard. It’s not quite two in the afternoon, and he bets she’ll be hungry when she does wake up from her late nap.

But it’s not so bad, he thinks, as he carries his baby inside once they’ve gotten home. He and Hoseok part ways in the foyer; Hoseok goes to store their skates in the closet by the door and Hyungwon takes Yerin to her room. Hyunwoo’s mother’s jellyfish necklace hangs off the little lamp on Yerin’s bedside table, and as he turns the lamp out, the jellyfish charm sways in midair. It's identical to the jellyfish painted on the wall above her bed, and he watches her sleep for a moment with a gentle smile on his face.

He sets the CD player on her dresser to play the _Spirited Away_ soundtrack at a low volume, and as he closes the door behind him on his way out, he wonders which song off the soundtrack she’ll want to skate to first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so soft uwu
> 
> For anyone wondering...  
> Hyungwon’s skates -- Edea Ice Fly (custom, blue rhinestones)  
> Hoseok’s skates -- Jackson Supreme 5852 (custom fit)  
> Yerin’s skates -- Jackson Excel (tot size)


	3. Just Hang On (ShowKi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a few months after the events of _Breathe._ Kihyun is struggling to cope with his injury.
> 
> 6.5k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of people requested ShowKi, so thank you to Kyun_26, Monbebegirl and Melody714 for your requests!

Kihyun cheers softly, grinning as Hyungwon’s free skate score shows up on the television screen. 179.39. That puts him in first place. On the screen, Hyungwon waves at the camera, lips stretched into a wide smile. Next to him, Jiyong, also grinning, hands him his black blade guards. The screen cuts to a commercial as Hyungwon is slipping the guards on, and Kihyun looks up as Hyunwoo comes forward with two cups of tea.

“Thank you,” he says sweetly, taking one of the steaming cups. Hyunwoo gives him an eye smile, and sits down next to him. 

It’s about nine in the evening on a Sunday in late October. Kihyun is sure the Halloween parties in the busy streets of Itaewon are in full swing, but he’s happier here, cozied up at home as he watches his friends skate to protect their titles in the Grand Prix series. Hyunwoo and Kihyun had dropped Changkyun and Jooheon off at the airport earlier that morning for their flight to France before Kihyun’s physical therapy appointment. He’d found the livestream for Skate Canada on television, and they’d watched as Hyungwon had thrown a stunning quadruple loop, adding a pretty bonus to his score. 

There’s no one at the rink, currently, because Jiyong is with Hyungwon and Wonho in British Columbia, and Seokjin and Yoongi are preparing to leave for China and Japan respectively from America with Namjoon, Jimin and Minhyuk. All the traveling that comes with participating in the series is exhausting and takes a lot of planning—between the three of them, Seokjin, Yoongi and Jiyong have at least eight athletes competing in different countries in the series every year, leading to expensive amounts of group travel.

Kihyun is no longer part of that group.

He sighs internally as he watches Wonho take the ice, and he sets his tea down, no longer interested in drinking it. He’d been trying so hard not to think about it. 

The last four months have been the hardest Kihyun has ever had to endure. Between surgeries and physical therapies and announcing his painfully early retirement—Kihyun would never wish this on anyone. He doesn’t know how Yoongi did it. The whole time, he’s felt like someone’s robbed him of his heart and soul.

Thank God he’s got Hyunwoo.

He steals a glance at his fiance, seated on the sofa next to him. His eyes are following Namjoon on the television screen as he performs his free skate. Hyunwoo has been his main pillar of support. His parents’ insurance had covered the medical costs of Kihyun’s surgeries and therapy, but they hadn’t yet had the chance to come down and see Kihyun. He supposes they’re just as disappointed as he is that he’s had to end his career so early.

He hasn’t told Hyunwoo yet, but he has every intent to go with him to the rink the next morning. Competition season, Hyunwoo has told him, brings some of the most peaceful moments to the ice arena. Because the coaches are strewn about the world with the skaters, Hyunwoo and J-hope are left in charge of upkeep of the rink itself. For weeks at a time, it’s just Hyunwoo and J-hope in the arena, doing chores, choreographing new routines, and dealing with monetary duties while the coaches are away. This is the first season that Kihyun will be able to assist in that upkeep. He hopes it’ll serve as a distraction from the fact that he’s not traveling the world to compete with his friends.

It isn’t a public ice rink, which Kihyun has grown to appreciate. Jiyong built the rink with the help of his husband, Seunghyun, and Seokjin, and once Yoongi came to join the coaching staff he became a fourth owner of the rink. The Seoul Magnolia Ice Club was to be one of the few rinks in the entire country dedicated solely to training world class athletes. Jiyong has told them many times of his experiences having to practice at ungodly hours of the morning and night to avoid the clumsiness of the general public, so Kihyun understands his desire to run a rink designed to train Olympians.

As Jiyong’s current students get older, they’ll retire, and be replaced with younger students in pursuit of international recognition. Kihyun is honored that, even after his career-ending injury, Jiyong had asked him to stay and work at the rink. He knows it’ll be awhile before he can begin coaching, what with his knee and ankle, but he’s still grateful he’ll be able to stay with his boys for a little while longer.

“What time are you leaving for the rink tomorrow?” Kihyun asks once the channel cuts to a string of commercials.

“I’ll probably leave around ten. Be back by five,” Hyunwoo says.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hyunwoo gives him a sideways glance, and hesitates. “O- _kay_ … why?”

“Because I’m tired of being stuck here.”

“You can come with me if you want, but you’ll be just as bored there as you are here. Jiyong doesn’t want us to show you the ropes until after competition season.”

“That’s why I’m going to skate.”

“No, you’re not.” Hyunwoo says sharply.

“Just for a bit.”

“No.”

Kihyun swallows. “But Doctor Nam said I’m clear to do some light exercise.”

“Skating is not light exercise.”

“I won’t jump or spin.”

“Kihyun, we’ve talked about this.”

“I just need to feel the ice under my feet. Please, Hyunwoo, it’s been _four months_.”

Hyunwoo heaves a sigh, rubs a hand over his face.

“Fine, but only when I can watch you.”

Kihyun scowls. “What am I, five?”

“I just want you to be careful.”

“I’m an _adult_. Don’t you trust me?”

His goal is to be back on the ice by the time his birthday comes around, even if he technically can’t compete anymore. His recovery has been going nicely; he’s done everything the doctors and his physical therapist have recommended and he stretches every day. He only feels pain when he pushes himself a little too hard, and he knows he can do simple spins and single jumps without problems because he’s practiced with some of the equipment in the dance studios. He doesn’t understand why Hyunwoo is so apprehensive.

“Of course I trust you.” Hyunwoo says, lacing his fingers through Kihyun’s hand. “But I also know you’re very headstrong. It’s not a bad thing, but you need to know your limits. You’re still _in_ _recovery_ , no matter how well it’s going. You’ll be in recovery until your therapy appointments end.”

Kihyun bites back a snippy reply. He’d never admit it, but he knows Hyunwoo is right. Hyunwoo had been a dance major and an athletic science minor in college; while his bachelor’s is in dance, he has physiotherapy knowledge and experience. Hyunwoo has been the main one helping Kihyun with his stretches because he knows how to do it safely. It would be wonderful if he could convert that knowledge to being on the ice, but he’s not a skater. Jiyong, Yoongi and Seokjin won’t be back until mid-December and Kihyun had been given strict instructions to wait for one of them to return before doing much on the ice.

It’s been a long time since Kihyun has felt like an emotional teenager, but that’s kind of how he feels at the moment; he feels like a pressurized balloon and his chest is heavy. He’s been doing what he can to distract himself, but skating is such an integral part of his existence that he’s begun to feel… empty.

“Doctor Nam has to clear you for _everything_ ,” Hyunwoo says, “before you can go back to practice. Okay? You’re almost there, Kihyun. Just a little while longer.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks,” Kihyun pouts.

“And I’ll keep having to say it if I let you do something ridiculous and you hurt yourself again. I’m sorry, Kihyun, but you know you have to be careful. You know what can happen if you don’t let yourself heal.”

Of course he knows what can happen. He’s been told the horror stories. It doesn’t make him any less bitter about it.

“Fine. I won’t jump or spin. I’ll just… glide, I guess.”

Hyunwoo thinks for a moment. “If you want, when I have some spare time you and I can stretch a little in the dance studio. I’ll let you use the spinner if everything goes okay.”

“Okay.” Kihyun says sullenly.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Hyunwoo badgers. “I’m doing it because I love you, you know.”

Kihyun doesn’t look at him, because if he does, he’ll just smile, and he wants Hyunwoo to know he’s pissed.

Of course, Hyunwoo knows better, so he leans over and grins broadly in Kihyun’s face. Frustrated and trying not to be amused, Kihyun flushes up to his ears and tries to look over Hyunwoo’s head at the television, but Hyunwoo comes closer. Rolling his eyes, Kihyun kisses him firmly on the lips before pushing him out of the way of the screen.

“You’re in my way,” he snaps, without any heat.

Hyunwoo chuckles, but he complies. Their fingers stay woven together the rest of the night.

* * *

They leave for the rink around ten the next morning, just like Hyunwoo planned. Kihyun had cooked both of them a nice breakfast and it’s a wonderful day outside, if a little cold. He feels good. He feels energetic, like there’s electricity in his limbs. His chest feels lighter than it’s been in a while. 

They decide to take the train into the city, and Kihyun watches the buildings of Seoul rush by until they get off at their stop. They walk the familiar distance from the metro station to the rink. Kihyun can’t help but grin into his scarf as the domed roof of the building comes into view. 

He feels like he’s coming home.

Hyunwoo punches in the code on the doors, and they leave their coats on the rack in the lobby once they step inside. As expected, the rink is empty when they walk in. The receptionist desk is empty—J-hope must be somewhere else in the building—and as soon as Kihyun pushes his way into the ice area, the sharp, cold smell hits him in the face, and he’s never welcomed a smell as much as he does right now. 

Kihyun goes to the rink’s edge, leans over the barrier and looks out across the sea of blueness. The ice has recently been resurfaced, judging by the sleek, watery look. It’s untouched. It’s perfect. 

He’d missed this, but he didn’t expect the feeling of being back to be quite this euphoric.

“We’ll stretch, first, okay?” Hyunwoo says unexpectedly, coming up behind Kihyun. “And I want you to wear the brace when you’re on the ice.”

“Okay,” Kihyun agrees easily. 

Half of his closet is athletic wear, but he hasn’t had a need to wear any of it in almost half a year, being at home all the time. He’d forgotten how much easier it is to breathe and move around in athletic clothing, and even as he slips the brace over his knee, he relishes in how lightweight the clothing is.

They stretch and exercise for about half an hour. Kihyun is far along enough in his recovery that most movements don’t hurt at all; he’s regained much of the leg flexibility and strength he had before he hurt himself, and he manages to convince Hyunwoo to let him do standing single rotations and practice a little on the spinner. To his frustration, Hyunwoo makes him wait until he’s done putting away the equipment until he lets Kihyun go out on the ice, but finally they make their way to the locker area and Kihyun opens his suitcase.

He’d had to clear out his locker after retiring, and his skates had been sitting, collecting dust, at the top of the linen closet in their apartment for nearly six months. That morning, he’d pulled out his competition suitcase to carry his skates to the rink. He sits down on one of the benches, shooting a glance at his old locker, the one next to Minhyuk’s on the far left by the window. As far as he’s concerned, it’s empty still, but he shakes the thoughts away. 

Putting his skates on is nothing short of cathartic. He’s surprised at how easily he falls back into his routine—he takes off the soft blade covers, replaces them with his hard covers, and puts on his right skate first. His hands work quickly to tie the skates. He’s been doing this for so long he doesn’t even need to think about it. When both skates are finally on, he sits up and gives Hyunwoo a broad smile.

“Ready?” Hyunwoo asks, smiling.

Kihyun nods, feeling a bit like an excited child.

His hands are trembling slightly as Hyunwoo leads him towards the ice and unlocks the barrier door. He steps onto the ice, and exhales in relief.

He glides around, laughing a little to himself as he skates lazy laps around the ovular rink. He can feel Hyunwoo’s eyes on him as he gains speed, but he promised Hyunwoo that he wouldn’t jump or spin, so he glides and skates and the feeling of the frosty wind hitting his face, threading through his hair, blowing over his skin is a wonderfully freeing feeling. He giggles gleefully as his blades make the familiar biting, scratching sound under him, cutting into the ice, and for the first time in a long while he feels truly weightless, truly untouchable, and _this_ —

—this is where he’s meant to be.

Hyunwoo lets him have a moment before J-hope appears out of nowhere, claiming to need his assistance with some paperwork. The dancer flashes Kihyun a blinding smile, though, when he sees him out on the ice, and Hyunwoo gives him another couple of minutes to skate around before beckoning him off. 

Kihyun spends the rest of the day following Hyunwoo around as he and J-hope do the daily chores around the arena, but he doesn’t take his skates off until it’s time to go home.

* * *

The night of Minhyuk’s birthday, Hyunwoo and Kihyun sit down in the living room to call him on Skype. He’s currently in Japan, preparing for the NHK Trophy, which isn’t for another three weeks. After collecting his silver medal at Skate America, he had flown by himself to Sapporo and is now awaiting Hyungwon’s arrival. The Internationaux de France starts in a couple of days, and Kihyun had wanted the chance to watch Changkyun and Jooheon compete in Grenoble with Minhyuk, but Jiyong hadn’t seen the point in sending Minhyuk home just for him to get on another plane to Japan. Calling Minhyuk to wish him a happy birthday is the best Kihyun can get, apparently.

“Happy birthday!” Kihyun and Hyunwoo cheer in unison as Minhyuk answers the Skype call.

Minhyuk laughs brightly. “Thank you, thank you. What a wonderful surprise!”

“Yah, twenty-three already,” Kihyun shakes his head. “You’re getting old.”

Minhyuk gasps, affronted. “I am not old, thank you very much! If I’m old, then so are you. You’ll be twenty three in three weeks, anyway.”

“Unlike you, I don’t age,” Kihyun brags, cleaning his fingernails on the front of his shirt. “You’ll get grey hairs and I’ll stay young forever.”

“Jiyong will have grey hairs first,” Minhyuk pouts, and Kihyun laughs.

They talk for a little while, mainly about Minhyuk’s preparation for NHK. He tells them that because he’s not yet allowed to practice in the arena where the actual competition will be held, he has to go to a public rink near the hotel really early in the morning or really late at night to avoid the crowds during the day. He doesn’t seem to be particularly cut up about this, though, because he mentions he has lots of time to sightsee, even though he’s a bit lonely waiting for Hyungwon to come to Sapporo. 

“I missed his free skate because I was on the plane,” whines Minhyuk. “I saw his short program while I was waiting to board the plane but the internet got all weird and then I had to get on. I know he took bronze, but I wish I’d seen it.”

“Is it not on YouTube?” asks Hyunwoo.

“I haven’t looked yet,” replies Minhyuk. “Anyway, that’s all that’s happening in my world. My lonely world. In the coldest freaking city in Japan. What’s going on with you?”

“I skated a few days ago,” Kihyun says without really thinking.

Minhyuk sits up straight, eyes wide. “No way! Wait—what? Are you allowed?”

So Kihyun tells him how he’s been cleared for light exercise, how stretching and other basic maneuvers don’t hurt him anymore.

“How did it feel?” asks Minhyuk. “To be back on the ice again?”

“Like I was flying,” Kihyun answers honestly. 

Minhyuk smiles widely. “Did you practice any skills?”

“No. Hyunwoo wouldn’t let me,” Kihyun says.

“I mean, I don’t blame him. If I were him I’d be apprehensive, too.”

“I know. I just wish you wouldn’t treat me like I’m made of glass,” Kihyun says, mainly to Hyunwoo.

Hyunwoo doesn’t say anything. Kihyun is glad he doesn’t; he knows what Hyunwoo would have said and if he has to hear it one more time he’ll pull his hair out.

“You’ll get there, Kihyun.” Minhyuk says, oddly serious for the first time the whole conversation. “You said your recovery is going nicely—just keep doing what you’re doing, okay? And Jiyong would want you to wait for him. So just hang in there a little while longer.”

Kihyun nods. He knows Minhyuk is right, but it doesn’t mean he’s not tired of hearing it.

* * *

Hyunwoo and J-hope have to work late on the night of the Internationaux de France, so Kihyun runs across the street to the little coffee shop to get some warm drinks. After bringing J-hope his hot chocolate and Hyunwoo his coffee, Kihyun curls up with a cup of tea in the arena lobby to watch the competition. In between their trips up and down the stairs, J-hope or Hyunwoo will come into the lobby to watch a little, but J-hope is preparing to fly to Chongqing so he can be there to watch Jimin skate in person, so they have a lot to do. They both reject his offers to help. Kihyun doesn’t mind, but he does make Hyunwoo and J-hope come and watch when Jooheon and Changkyun take the ice.

After the short program, Jooheon is in first with an excellent score of 87.79, and Changkyun is right behind him with 84.63. Jooheon had received nearly twelve points for his back counter-triple axel-double toe loop combination, and Changkyun had landed his quadruple flip for the first time ever in televised competition. To say Kihyun is proud is an understatement. He just wishes he could be there with them to celebrate.

Kihyun is barely awake by the time the free skate concludes, but he makes himself stay awake long enough to watch Jooheon and Changkyun compete. He dozes off before he sees Changkyun's score, though, and wakes up to Hyunwoo curling a finger around a lock of his hair.

“Mm,” Kihyun hums. The feeling of Hyunwoo’s fingers stroking his hair sends pleasant shivers down his spine. 

“You awake?” Hyunwoo asks.

“Kind of. Time?"

"Late. Are you ready to go home?"

"Mmm."

“Jooheon took gold.”

Kihyun sits up, suddenly wide awake. Hyunwoo smiles.

“Really?” Kihyun asks, looking at the television. It’s been turned off.

“Yep,” Hyunwoo nods. 

“What about Changkyun?”

“Silver.”

Kihyun punches the air, grinning. Two more medals for the history books.

* * *

J-hope leaves the next morning for his flight to Chongqing. Instead of having to go to the rink every few days, Hyunwoo and Kihyun go every day now that J-hope is gone. The ice has to be resurfaced every day even when there’s no one on the ice, but Kihyun spends longer sessions on the ice. Hyunwoo brings the paperwork he’s responsible for down to the rink area and completes each sheet while watching Kihyun. 

Kihyun feels a bit like a child; a rambunctious, unpredictable toddler. Like Hyunwoo is treating him as if he’s made of glass. It’s somehow both incredibly frustrating and endearing. 

Hyunwoo finally lets Kihyun start jumping and spinning after his third meeting with his physiotherapist. Dr. Nam officially clears him to return to his sport, but advises him to take it easy to prevent re-injury. 

Jooheon takes a silver medal in the Cup of China. Jimin places fourth and is coming home with J-hope and Jooheon in two weeks. Wonho, after taking gold in Canada, had stayed in Kelowna to meet with some childhood friends. Kihyun gets a message from Minhyuk the morning after the competition telling him that Hyungwon, who had taken bronze in Canada, has landed safely in Sapporo and Minhyuk is no longer lonely in the huge city.

It’s a long string of great news, but the one thing Kihyun relishes in is the fact that everything he does out on the ice is entirely painless. He’s only allowed to do single jumps and basic spins—camel spins, sit spins, scratch spins—but nothing he does hurts, and he lets himself bask in that victory the longest. 

“Count your victories,” is something Jiyong tells them often. “Count your successes. They mean more than your losses.”

* * *

Of course, what comes up must come down. The victories don’t last forever. It turns out Jimin injured himself during warm up before the free skate in China, and now instead of coming straight home, he’s being treated in China, and Jiyong won’t let Jooheon leave without him. Jimin, Jooheon and J-hope are stuck in Chongqing for another four or five days.

To make matters worse, the same night, Kihyun gets a call from an angry Minhyuk, who rants about the public rink he and Hyungwon had been using to prepare for NHK. Some disastrous electrical failure occurred, shutting down the whole rink, and now they have no place to practice. They still have a few days until the competition arena is open for practice.

Speaking of Jiyong, he’s been AWOL for a few days. After Chongqing, he had a flight to Russia, where he’d meet Changkyun in Moscow for Rostelecom, but Yoongi caught wind of the fact that Jiyong’s flight had either been delayed or he’d missed it entirely, and now no one can contact him.

Kihyun has only had very fleeting contact with Yoongi. He knows that wherever Yoongi is, Namjoon and Seokjin are with him, but he doesn’t know where that may be, and he can’t get Yoongi to reply to his texts. 

A horrible snowstorm in Kelowna has effectively trapped Wonho in the city. Kihyun hasn’t been able to contact him much, either. 

Kihyun's friends are scattered across the world; Hoseok is snowed in in British Columbia; Jooheon, Jimin and J-hope are stuck in Chongqing; Minhyuk and Hyungwon are restless in Sapporo; Changkyun is probably all by himself in Russia; Kihyun doesn’t even know where Namjoon, Seokjin or Yoongi are; and Jiyong has completely fallen off the radar. 

Before the Grand Prix series had started, at least Kihyun had been going through his recovery with his friends and familiar faces. 

Now, he’s all alone. 

He still can’t get Hyunwoo to let him start doing double jumps, even though he’s had all of his doubles since he was nine years old. He’s trying not to feel powerless, and he starts offering even more to help Hyunwoo around the rink. Hyunwoo eventually relents and Kihyun does whatever he’s told to do. He does it willingly, just so he feels in control of _something_.

* * *

Another long week passes, and Korea has its eye on Changkyun as he performs in Russia. Jiyong, at some point, made it to Moscow, but Kihyun still doesn’t know what happened to him or where he ended up during those days when no one could contact him. Hoseok is still stuck in Kelowna and Jooheon, Jimin and J-hope have finally managed to get a flight back to Korea, but it doesn’t leave for another few days. Yoongi and Seokjin have joined Minhyuk and Hyungwon in Sapporo, where they still don’t have access to a rink, and Namjoon is supposed to be on his way back to Seoul the next morning.

Satisfied that he at least knows where everyone is now, Kihyun tries to let himself relax and watch Changkyun compete for the Rostelecom Cup. Hyunwoo massages the tension out of his shoulders as they sit together on their living room floor, stretching. 

The worst part about watching the Grand Prix on television, Kihyun decides, is having to sit through all the commercials. It’s the first season he’s had to watch on television; the first he hasn’t participated in since he was about fourteen. Every performance is followed by about five or six ads, and by the time Changkyun is taking the ice for his free skate, Kihyun has the overly-cheerful theme song for a fruit drink ad playing on loop in his head, and he hopes Changkyun’s free program music will drown it out.

Changkyun’s short program, unfortunately, had not gone well. It was disappointing, really, compared to what he’d accomplished in France only two weeks prior. His score, 75.92, had him in fourth after the short program. He’d fallen on two of the three jumping passes—his triple axel and his quadruple flip—and these were mistakes that were very uncharacteristic of him. Kihyun holds his breath as Changkyun’s music begins, hoping that the free skate will go better.

He exhales in shock when Changkyun falls on his opening quadruple salchow. There’s a stunned expression on the kid’s face as he gets back up. Next to him, Hyunwoo gapes in surprise. Kihyun can’t remember the last time he saw Changkyun fall on the quad sal. It’s his _signature move_. He’s landed that jump consistently since Kihyun met him. 

Changkyun goes down on his next jump, too. A triple toe loop-triple toe loop—another jump he always manages to land cleanly. Kihyun shakes his head, appalled. 

Something must be wrong. 

Changkyun is a powerful athlete, but he’s always had a hard time skating when something’s on his mind. It’s something Jiyong has been working hard to help him fix. Kihyun was under the impression that their drills and simulations had been working, but evidently, the opposite seems to be the case. Kihyun hasn’t seen Changkyun skate like this in a long time. 

Everyone has bad days, off days, days when you just aren’t feeling like yourself—it’s part of the sport, and Kihyun isn’t a stranger to it. If you’re unlucky, you have a bad day on competition day. It could just be that the kid’s not having a good day, or something really could be weighing on his mind. Either way, this won’t end well for Changkyun. Jiyong will probably be disappointed, and Changkyun will definitely be in need of comfort when he comes home. He won’t qualify for the Final at this rate.

A sinking feeling comes over Kihyun as the music ends. Changkyun only landed three out of the seven jumps planned. The crowd applauds when he’s finished, but he doesn’t smile as he bows.

Jiyong’s expression is blank as Changkyun steps off the ice, but before he hands him his blade guards, Jiyong pulls Changkyun into a crisp hug. 

“It’s okay, kiddo,” says Jiyong. His voice is muffled, just within earshot of the camera. Changkyun doesn’t respond; he’s still breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath.

Jiyong hands him his blade guards, and as Changkyun pulls the guards onto his blades, Jiyong tries to get him to look him in the eye, but he doesn’t talk to Jiyong at all. He’s also silent while they sit together at the Kiss & Cry, awaiting his score. Finally the screen shows the total score, and Kihyun winces. A low 141.63. His total is 255.46 and he’s in seventh place. It’s the lowest score Changkyun has had in his senior career.

The camera catches the moment Changkyun’s eyes fill with tears before the channel cuts to another stupid fruit drink commercial. 

Kihyun wants to pull his hair out.

* * *

The day after Rostelecom, Kihyun accompanies Hyunwoo to the rink again. Kihyun had mentioned to Hyunwoo on the train ride to the city that he feels stronger today, despite the unfortunate series of events that had occurred both before and in Russia. The night before, Kihyun had tried calling Changkyun, but he hadn’t gotten an answer. He hadn’t expected one, but it worries Hyunwoo all the same. He wonders if any of their other friends had tried to get into contact with him. Unfortunately, Changkyun was the only one assigned to skate in Russia. Everyone else is in China, Canada, Japan—no one has been with him to comfort him, other than Jiyong, who isn’t big on comfort as it is. Jiyong will have to go from Russia to Japan to be with Minhyuk and Hyungwon as they prepare for NHK, meaning Changkyun will come back to Korea alone. Hyunwoo doesn’t know what to expect.

Hyunwoo and Kihyun stretch for a good forty five minutes in one of the dance studios. He contemplates leaving Kihyun alone for a little while—he has to do some tax business since J-hope is still in China this week—but he’s still a bit anxious about leaving Kihyun to his own accord. He so badly wants to trust Kihyun, he really does—but part of him is so afraid of Kihyun hurting himself again that he just can’t. He’s known Kihyun for almost six years, and they’ve been dating for nearly half of that time. He knows Kihyun’s mannerisms by now. For better or for worse, Kihyun is the most determined person he knows. He’ll fight even when he can’t anymore. He’ll keep pushing himself past his limit. It’s something Hyunwoo simultaneously hates and admires about him. 

“Single jumps only,” He tells Kihyun as he’s lacing up his skates.

“I know,” Kihyun says. He doesn’t look at Hyunwoo, focused on tying his laces.

Hyunwoo watches for a few minutes as Kihyun does some warmup laps around the rink, ensuring he’s not doing anything dangerous, before he goes upstairs to Jiyong’s office in search of the monthly bills for the rink. He leaves the door to Jiyong’s office open as he hunts through the countless file cabinets lined up on the wall. J-hope is more equipped to handle monetary duties when it comes to the rink, but Hyunwoo has been trained to take on his tasks in his absence, and he knows how to do relatively basic things, such as arrange to pay the utility bills. 

He’s glad he left the door open. Less than five minutes after he goes upstairs, he flinches when the familiar sound of someone falling on ice reaches his ears. There’s a pained yelp that can only belong to one person.

Immediately, he hurries out of Jiyong’s office and leans over the glass railing of the second floor; he looks down at the ice and, to his horror, sees Kihyun on his knees on the ice. His heart leaps into his mouth.

“What the hell are you _doing_?” Hyunwoo shouts, sprinting down the stairs. His heart is thudding frantically in his chest. _Oh God, if he’s hurt himself again—_

“I’m fine, I’m fine, everything is fine,” Kihyun is saying shakily when Hyunwoo reaches the last step. He pulls himself to his feet and looks up in shock as Hyunwoo storms towards the ice.

“What did you do?” Hyunwoo demands. His voice is loud; he can hear himself echo around the empty arena.

Kihyun stammers for a response. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. He’s not standing fully on his right leg; he’s bending his knee, using the toepick of his skate as support.

“ _What_ did you _do?_ ” Hyunwoo snaps.

“A... a d-double flip,” Kihyun stutters. His face is growing red. “Please don’t yell at me.”

“Are you _crazy_?” Hyunwoo fumes, more upset than he’s been in a while. “I _told_ you not to do anything crazy—it’s like you _want_ to get hurt again—is that what you want? I was gone for _two minutes,_ Kihyun—why won’t you _listen_ to me?”

“Stop _yelling_ at me!” Kihyun cries.

Hyunwoo stops dead when he realizes there’s tears in Kihyun’s eyes. Kihyun buries his face in his hands, shying away from him. Hyunwoo’s heart shatters. He immediately begins to regret raising his voice. He knows Kihyun has been stir-crazy with everything that’s gone down in the last week or so—what was he thinking, shouting at him like that?

“K-Kihyun, I didn’t mean—” 

“I thought I could do it,” Kihyun hiccups. “I just want to feel _normal_ again!”

Hyunwoo fumbles to find something to say. The tears in Kihyun’s eyes and voice have stunned Hyunwoo into speechlessness. He feels awful; there’s a clump of words stuck in the back of his throat, choking him.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” Hyunwoo finally manages to ask.

“It—it’s fine,” Kihyun stammers.

He’s clearly lying. He turns away from Hyunwoo suddenly, not giving Hyunwoo the chance to say anything more. He glides on his left foot to the rink’s edge, abstaining from using his right leg as much as he can. Without bothering to pull his skate guards on, he unlocks the barrier door and gets off the ice. Hyunwoo realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s limping.

Hyunwoo follows silently, a few feet away, as Kihyun stumbles in the direction of the bathrooms. His limp gets worse with every step he takes. He doesn’t seem to be aware that Hyunwoo is following him. That, or he’s aware and just doesn’t have the energy to confront him again. 

Kihyun disappears into the bathroom and Hyunwoo waits a few moments, internally panicking, before going in after him. He walks in just in time to see one of the stall doors slam shut, and then Kihyun is retching. The unpleasant sounds of vomiting carry through the stall door, and Hyunwoo buries his face in his hands.

He waits, listening to the horrible noises, and digs the heels of his palms into his hands. Every instinct is telling him to go in and help Kihyun, but he can’t make his feet move. Kihyun is either upset that Hyunwoo had shouted, or he’s in so much pain it’s making him sick, or it’s a combination of both, and Hyunwoo just doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. So he waits; he fights back tears, hiding behind one of the walls in the bathroom, and waits until he hears the toilet flush and the click of the stall door unlocking.

When he hears one of the sink taps start running, he makes his presence known by standing behind Kihyun, visible in the mirror Kihyun stands in front of. At first Kihyun doesn’t seem to notice him, wiping his mouth with a paper towel. He stands still for a moment, gripping either side of the sink, chest heaving as he fights to catch his breath again. Hyunwoo thinks he might have to say something to get Kihyun’s attention, but then Kihyun looks up into the mirror and makes eye contact with Hyunwoo through the glass. 

Hyunwoo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Kihyun holds his gaze for a second, and then his face crumbles and he turns around and throws himself into Hyunwoo’s chest with an anguished cry. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Hyunwoo says sincerely, holding him tightly. “I—you scare me, sometimes, because I know who you are and I know what you’re capable of. But—that’s not an excuse—I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault,” Kihyun says around a sob. “I knew I shouldn’t have. But I can’t—I _can’t_ —”

He dissolves into sobs, and his small, lithe body shakes desperately against Hyunwoo. The process of recovery has taken a lot out of Kihyun, but Hyunwoo hasn’t seen him this upset in a while. Kihyun is an expert at maintaining composure, and when there comes a time that he can’t keep himself together, Hyunwoo is left feeling a little helpless. 

“Kihyun, I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re not an athlete anymore,” Hyunwoo says earnestly, taking Kihyun’s hands. “You can maintain the diet and physique of one, if you want, but _yeobo_ —you can’t train like an Olympian anymore. You have to treat your body better. You’re still healing.”

“ _I just want to skate_ , Hyunwoo,” snaps Kihyun. He rips his hands out of Hyunwoo’s and weaves his fingers into his hair, his shoulders shaking with angry sobs. “That’s all I want.”

“I know. I know,” says Hyunwoo, because it’s all he can say. All he can do is acknowledge his frustration and be there for him. He cautiously reaches out to hug Kihyun from behind. The smaller man stiffens at his touch, but he doesn’t push Hyunwoo away, and Hyunwoo holds him close. 

“What am I without skating?” sobs Kihyun. “What do I do now that I can’t anymore? I feel like someone’s stepped on my heart and my lungs are heavy. Everything has gone wrong. What am I supposed to do?”

Hyunwoo doesn’t know how to answer him. He doesn’t know what Kihyun wants to hear. He stays silent.

It’s not the first time Kihyun has fallen apart, but Hyunwoo lets him break, hoping Kihyun knows that he won’t be alone when he inevitably has to put himself back together.

* * *

Kihyun wakes up to the news that Namjoon is safely back in Korea; Wonho is finally on his way home, as is Changkyun, who, Kihyun learns, is in desperate need of some comfort. The competition arena in Sapporo has been opened early, giving Minhyuk and Hyungwon a chance to train before the competition. All three coaches have joined Minhyuk and Hyungwon in Japan, and Jooheon, Jimin, and J-hope are, at last, leaving Chongqing.

All of this news comes from Hyunwoo. Once Kihyun joins him in the kitchen, in search of coffee, Hyunwoo relays everything calmly and sweetly, knowing fully well that it will bring Kihyun some peace of mind.

As Kihyun listens, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease with every word Hyunwoo says, he supposes that Hyunwoo is deserving of more gratitude. 

For four months it’s been Hyunwoo who's taken him to the doctor and the physical therapist. It’s been Hyunwoo who’s helped him stretch and made sure he’s not pushing himself too hard too soon. It’s been Hyunwoo who’s held him when he cried because his one greatest passion has slipped through his fingers. It’s been Hyunwoo who’s comforted him and helped him. It’s been Hyunwoo who has been his anchor, who knows his mannerisms and habits and personality so well. 

When Kihyun asks him why, why he’d bothered, why he’d kept it up even while Kihyun was being difficult, Hyunwoo replies simply, 

“Because I love you.”

Kihyun cries.

Hyunwoo holds him through it. 

Because he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!


	4. Rostelecom (Changkyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of what happened in Rostelecom in the last chapter, but told through Jiyong's point of view.
> 
> 700 words

“Coach…”

I pause when I hear Changkyun’s voice behind me. 

“I... I’m sorry.”

I turn around. The nineteen year old is standing in the doorway, his head down. I take a second to take in his appearance. He’s clearly been crying, but I don’t blame him. Losses are hard. It’ll sting for a bit. But I hope it’ll make him all the more determined to have a better season next year, with a brand new routine and, hopefully, some new jumps. 

“Come sit,” I say simply.

“Are you angry?” Changkyun asks quietly. My heart clenches. I hadn’t realized it’s been weighing on him like that. But—of course it is. The kid left everything he knew to come train with me. He relies on my opinion of him.

I hope he doesn’t think I’m disappointed.

“Concerned is a better word,” I clarify. “Come talk to me.”

Changkyun reluctantly comes closer into the room, and sits down on the bench across from me. He still can’t bring himself to look me in the face.

“Look at me, kid,” I say. 

Changkyun does so, and his eyes are sad, disappointed, frustrated. 

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, first of all. I’m here to help you, and that isn’t limited to coaching you on the ice. I know you’re pretty far away from your family.”

Changkyun nods silently. I pause. I’d sort of expected Changkyun to take the reins, but his mouth remains stubbornly closed. 

“Everyone has bad days,” I say, even though I know Changkyun knows this. “Is there something on your mind?”

Changkyun hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Changkyun bites his lip. 

_ Don’t cry, kid. I can’t deal with tears. _

“Tell me how you’re feeling now,” I try. 

“I’m… frustrated,” Changkyun says finally. “And... embarrassed. I…”

I wait patiently for him to continue, but he seems to be out of words already. We wait in silence for a moment.

“Can I…” Changkyun says, then trails off. He clears his throat. “I’m going to… say something. I’ve never said it before.”

I nod.

“I’m gay.”

He slumps as soon as the words are out of his mouth. I sit back in my seat. I hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“Okay,” I say at last. “That was brave. I’m proud of you.”

Changkyun looks at his feet; he’s bent forward just enough to where I can’t see his expression. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I lean forward, closer to him, and take his hand. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I don’t…”

I understand something crucial in that moment. I’m the first and only person Changkyun has ever come out to. I know how heavy that kind of knowledge can weigh on someone’s shoulders—years ago, I’d been in Changkyun’s seat.

I’m sure it’s just as cathartic for Changkyun to say it as it had been for me.

“It’s okay to cry.” I say. 

I might not be able to deal with tears very easily, but Changkyun deserves this. He deserves a minute to himself.

Changkyun lets go of my hand, and I try not to watch as his shoulders shake with soft, repressed sobs. 

I’m a bit of a private person. My students know I’m married, of course, but most of them haven’t met Seunghyun, and they know very little about my childhood and adolescence. They know only what they’ve seen on television and online. I’d like to keep it that way, really, because I’m their coach and not necessarily their friend—but it won’t hurt me now to tell Changkyun I know how he’s feeling.

I give him another minute to breathe. I don’t ask him any more questions. He doesn’t need to be interrogated.

“Do you feel a little better?” I ask eventually.

He shrugs. “I guess so.”

I survey him again. He’s shaking slightly, but he is considerably less tense than it had been a few minutes ago. I count that as a small victory.

“When you get home,” I say slowly, thinking carefully about my words, “I don’t want you to do any quads until I get back. I want you to give yourself a few days. Hang out with Kihyun and Hyunwoo, okay? I know how hard this can be.”

“You know what it’s like to come out?”

I shrug. “I’ve done it before.”

Changkyun nods. There’s another pregnant silence.

“Go get some sleep, kid,” I say. “And do a little sightseeing tomorrow, why don’t you.”

He nods again, and stands. Before he leaves the room, though, he pauses in the doorway again.

“Coach,” he says.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Yah, don’t get soppy on me.”

I wave him off, and he finally gives me a smile. Then the door clicks shut behind him.


	5. The Stranger (JooKyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jooheon is skating royalty at his home rink. Newcomer Lim Changkyun threatens to overthrow him.
> 
> 10.0k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With permission, I combined a request by purplesoulmx with a request by FlyWithMe, because they were very similar, asking for enemies to lover JooKyun. Thank you for your request, my dears! 
> 
> This is about 5k words longer than I initially planned, so please enjoy this nice, long chapter!
> 
> [Changkyun's music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hV4LrQJU74o&list=PLQakza9kEFrJVqZOdnMor1bLjWXp-Fl-q&index=3)  
> [Changkyun's costume](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/8a/cf/dd/8acfdd9fc07e33a0853c654c61572dcd--figure-skating-reference-figure-skating-costume.jpg)  
> [Jooheon's music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpN_TgjiLSk&list=PLQakza9kEFrJVqZOdnMor1bLjWXp-Fl-q&index=6)  
> [Jooheon's costume](https://i.insider.com/530632fb69bedd6c17b86a1b?width=750&format=jpeg&auto=webp)

“Right split,” barks Yoongi, coldly ignoring the murmurs of pain and protest that travel through the studio. “Jiyong is coming soon. We’ll start off-ice after he gets here.”

As he slides into his split, Jooheon winces, though not because of the tightness of his muscles. He’d thought something was off about the coach that morning when he’d arrived at the rink. Jiyong is notorious for his pep talks, but Jooheon has a feeling this won’t be an ordinary pep talk. Not if he’s been paying any attention to his students the last few weeks.

Yoongi makes them hold the split for two minutes and even though Jooheon has had his splits down for years, the position is killing him, and he’s bound to be sore the rest of the day. Yoongi only lets them out of the stretch when Jiyong wanders into the room, followed by Seokjin, and the skaters wait silently as Jiyong surveys them. 

Apprehensive, Jooheon catches Minhyuk’s eye across the room. Minhyuk offers a helpless shrug. Jiyong doesn’t look pleased.

“I want to chat with you all about some of the behavior I’ve been seeing recently,” Jiyong starts, and his tone is both impatient and grim. “Frankly, I’m… disgusted. That’s the right word for it. Is anyone going to offer up an explanation?”

He’s met with dead silence. 

Jooheon knows what Jiyong is talking about. They all do. He doesn’t think it’s as bad as Jiyong clearly thinks it is, but he’d be a fool to not be afraid of Jiyong when he gets legitimately angry as he is now.

“No one?” snaps Jiyong. He sweeps an accusatory glare across the room. Jooheon can’t meet his eyes.

Jooheon hasn’t actively been participating in the rumors, but it’s hard to ignore them. He misses Gunhee terribly. Blaming it on the new kid has been a coping mechanism, he guesses. It’s not a mechanism he’s particularly proud of, but he can’t help it.

“I know that you’re pissed and bitter about Gunhee leaving, okay?” Jiyong says, and his tone is sharp. “I get it. But there’s nothing we can do about him. He decided he wanted to focus on his education, and that’s his decision. Don’t blame the new kid. It’s not his fault.”

For some reason, hearing Jiyong defend the new student leaves a bad taste on Jooheon’s tongue. Gunhee is one of the best. He’d been well on his way to being a world class athlete like the rest of them, and then he left. All the new kid is going to do is serve as a reminder that Gunhee isn’t there anymore.

“If you’re thinking the new boy is Gunhee’s replacement, I guess you’re kind of right, in a way. But I’m hearing rumors of this kid having _bought_ his way into my rink, and I am _revolted_ that you think that lowly of him _and_ of me. Why don’t you wait to see him skate before you decide on an opinion? Christ, this kid’s coach referred him to me nearly eighteen months ago—he has been sitting at the top of my referral list for almost _two years,_ waiting for a spot. If I’d had to wait any longer, I’d have recruited him myself, regardless of how little space we have here.”

This is news to Jooheon. Jiyong is a coach by referral—meaning a student has to be referred to him by someone else before he decides whether or not he’ll coach them. He only takes students who really have the potential to compete on an international scale. He almost never goes out and recruits students himself. They have to come to him, and his standards are extremely high. (A notable exception would be Hoseok, who Jiyong had watched perform at an ice show in Busan six years ago.) Jooheon will always view his place in this rink as a blessing. 

“Coach, who told you about him?” asks Minhyuk suddenly.

Jiyong fixes him with a level stare. “His former coach, Lee Chaerin.”

Someone whistles. Jooheon’s jaw drops slightly. Lee Chaerin? _No way._

“He’s talented. He’s been waiting for his chance, and this is it. Don’t ruin it for him. I know none of you are that cruel.” Jiyong sighs, and then his voice turns hard again. “And really, I can’t believe I have to sit you all down and talk to you about this, because ninety-percent of you are adults and this is not _middle school_. But if the rumors don’t stop right now, and the behavior doesn’t end here, we’re going to have a serious problem. Am I clear?”

“Yes, coach,” echoes back to him from all the students in the room.

Jiyong looks at Yoongi and Seokjin, who are both surveying the small cluster of skaters in the studio. J-hope and Shownu, the choreographers, are standing off to the side by the ballet barres, watching Jiyong.

“Anything to add?” asks Jiyong, looking at the four of them expectantly.

J-hope and Shownu both shake their heads, but Yoongi sits up a bit straighter.

“You might be surprised to hear this, but he’s a clockwise skater, so while Jiyong is his head coach, he’ll be working primarily with me,” Yoongi says. “Because of this, he usually won’t be on the ice at the same time as most of you. If you meet him and decide you can’t stand him, rest assured you’ll only have to see him during group exercises. But if Seokjin or I see any of the aforementioned behavior, if we don’t deal with you ourselves, then Jiyong will be told and he’ll decide what to do.”

“We compete under the same flag. We are a team. We are Team Korea,” Seokjin says evenly. “We’re a family in this rink. Starting Monday, he’s part of it. You don’t have to love him, but we expect you to respect him as you respect each other.”

Minhyuk raises his hand again. “Coach? What’s his name?”

“His name is Lim Changkyun.”

* * *

Lim Changkyun _is_ a leftie, as it turns out. Not that Jooheon doubted Yoongi when he mentioned it. It’s just, he’s never met a skater other than Yoongi who _actually_ spins _clockwise_. Lefties are unusual in the skating world, just as being left handed is rare in the real world. The only leftie Jooheon has ever met is Yoongi, who, in all his coaching career, has yet to coach a skater who spins the same direction he does.

And on his first day at the rink, just after warm up, before Jooheon has even gotten the chance to get a good look at his face, Lim Changkyun throws a quadruple salchow, and it’s one of the most beautiful, technically perfect jumps Jooheon has ever seen. It’s fully rotated and he lands solidly, with full confidence, and Jooheon is rendered speechless.

The jump is received with nods of approval from Yoongi, and Jiyong hits his palms on the boards of the rink wall as he does when he’s excited. 

“That’s what I like to _see!”_ shouts Jiyong, clapping, and the kid grins shyly as he glides towards the coaches. 

“I’d offer you corrections, but that really was a fantastic jump,” says Yoongi. 

The kid’s response is too quiet to hear, but Jooheon stops listening.

So yeah. The stranger is good. He’s really good.

But Jooheon isn’t intimidated, nor does he want to be the kid’s friend. He’s Gunhee’s replacement.

But he’s also a former student of Lee Chaerin, one of the biggest names in the female singles discipline, and simply the idea of the Skating Queen having coached this kid absolutely _floors_ Jooheon. Lee Chaerin has _three_ Olympic medals—two gold, one bronze—and Changkyun wanted to skate _here_? Jooheon isn’t undermining Jiyong, or Yoongi or Seokjin, but he simply can’t understand why the kid’s made the coaching change.

He also doesn’t recognize Changkyun at all, he realizes, when the kid finally takes a break for a sip of water at the rink’s edge and Jooheon looks at him. His hair is dark and fluffy, and his nose is long and sharp. His face is somewhat triangular, and his lips are shaped in a perfect bow. 

Some of Jiyong’s students are athletes Jooheon has been skating against since he was at the junior level. Namjoon and Taehyung, to name a couple, have been Jooheon’s rivals since he was thirteen. Even the students who are older than him, he’s known a while. (But Jiyong doesn’t coach juniors, which is probably part of the reason why he’d waited so long to accept Changkyun into his rink. He hasn’t coached juniors since Kihyun and Minhyuk were fifteen years old.)

Jooheon figured he’d at least know Changkyun’s face, but Changkyun is a stranger. Jooheon has never seen this kid before. Where did he come from?

“America,” comes Kihyun’s voice to Jooheon’s left. “He came from America.”

Jooheon whips around in shock, partially because Kihyun had scared the hell out of him by sneaking up on him. Kihyun, standing on the ice on the other side of the barrier, gives him an apologetic grin, and uses a gloved hand to swipe ice off the sides of his blades. Jooheon’s cheeks turn pink. He must have been thinking out loud.

“He’s in the process of changing his nationality,” Kihyun continues. “He’ll skate for Korea from now on.”

“No wonder I’ve never seen him before,” says Jooheon, looking back at the kid. “He never competed here.”

“Nope,” Kihyun shakes his head. “But I looked him up last night. He’s the American junior national champion. He’s held the title the last three years.”

“How old is he?”

“He turned seventeen four days ago.”

Jooheon whistles. He’s only just been moved up to the senior level, in that case. Hyungwon just turned twenty. This kid is so young, compared to the rest of them. 

“He’s making his senior debut with Jiyong, then,” Jooheon states more than asks.

“It would appear so.” Kihyun nods.

There’s a pause. Across the rink, the big red digital clock strikes twelve, signalling the rotation, and Jiyong turns and beckons Jooheon over. Kihyun unlocks the barrier door to allow Jooheon on the ice.

“I bet the change from junior to senior level will be jarring for him,” says Kihyun as Jooheon pulls off his blade guards. 

Jooheon presses his lips into a firm line, stepping onto the ice. “It always is.”

“He’s lucky he’s with Jiyong and Yoongi now.”

“Yeah,” Jooheon says flatly. “ _He’s_ lucky.”

He skates towards Jiyong as Kihyun gets off the ice. Then Changkyun is going again, and they both watch as he throws the same perfect quadruple salchow. He lands with perfect grace and accuracy, and as Jiyong hits the boards again, Jooheon turns around to catch Kihyun’s gaze. Tugging on his blade guards, Kihyun looks at him and raises his eyebrows. Jooheon rolls his eyes.

 _Okay, Lim Changkyun,_ Jooheon thinks to himself. _Two can play at this game._

His quadruple toe loop isn’t necessarily the best weapon in his arsenal, but it’s better than his quadruple flip, and they’re the only two quads he’s landed so far. He’s nervous as he preps for the jump, and he can feel Jiyong watching him as he and Yoongi talk to Changkyun, but he goes for the jump anyway. His heart leaps into his mouth as he leaps into the air.

It’s underrotated. He can tell the moment he lands. But, despite not being warmed up at all, he lands it, and he grins at the shocked silence that follows.

“Yah, no way did you just do that,” Seokjin exclaims, startling Jooheon. “Where did _that_ come from?”

Jooheon shrugs, a little winded from the adrenaline and the jump. He catches Kihyun’s gaze across the ice, but he can’t read the older skater’s expression.

“Underrotated,” calls Jiyong, skating his way over. “Bring your hips through more. Good attempt, kid.”

Jooheon dips his head, staring at Changkyun’s back as he and Yoongi skate towards the barrier door, talking to each other. Yoongi chuckles at something Changkyun says.

_Take that, Lim Changkyun. You don’t scare me._

* * *

“Honestly, Jooheon, you might as well have gone up and yelled in his face.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“I don’t think you could have been less subtle if you tried.”

Jooheon sighs at Kihyun’s comment and ignores him petulantly as he plunks down on the bench and begins to untie his skates. Minhyuk and Hoseok, both in the process of removing their own skates, look up curiously.

“What did he do?” asks Minhyuk.

“He saw the new kid throw a quad salchow, and it was basically perfect,” says Kihyun, opening his locker and pulling out his blade towel.

“Oh, yeah, I saw it, too!” says Hoseok brightly. “Wasn’t it brilliant?”

“It really was,” Kihyun agrees. Jooheon shoots him a glare.

“I didn’t see it,” Minhyuk says, looking between Kihyun and Jooheon. 

“It was good. He’s really good,” Kihyun says, and then gestures at Jooheon. “So guess what this envious idiot did?”

Minhyuk and Hoseok stare at Kihyun. Jooheon doesn’t look at any of them.

“He threw a quad toe.”

The older skaters turn their shocked stares to Jooheon. Jooheon feels the tips of his ears burn.

“Did you land it?” demands Minhyuk.

“It was underrotated,” mumbles Jooheon, sighing as he pulls his skate off his foot. “But, yeah.”

“Did the kid see it?”

“I don’t know,” says Jooheon. He doesn’t know, now that he thinks about it. Changkyun’s back had been to Jooheon when Jiyong had approached him.

“So who did you jump for?” asks Hoseok. “Yourself, or him?”

Jooheon glares at him, suddenly frustrated. “Myself. What is he to me? He’s no one.”

Hoseok looks a little caught off guard at the hostility in Jooheon’s voice. Before either Kihyun or Minhyuk can intervene, Jooheon puts his skates in his locker and walks away. He doesn’t respond as Kihyun calls after him, and he’s aware he’s being childish, but his heart feels bruised, and he can’t bring himself to care.

* * *

Minhyuk and Jooheon have an hour of dance with Seokjin in the second studio before their ice time with Jiyong, but it seems Changkyun’s lesson with Yoongi is running a little long, because both the kid and the coach are still on the ice after Jooheon gets his skates on. Jiyong is there, too, further signalling that the lesson has been extended, at least for a few minutes. This realization puts Jooheon in an even worse mood; he’d woken up to realize that Changkyun had been added to the rink group chat at some point the night before, and while he should have expected that, it still left a heaviness on his shoulders. Jooheon swallows the bitter feeling as best as he can as he pulls his blade guards off and follows Minhyuk towards where Yoongi, Changkyun and Jiyong are grouped at the opposite end of the ice.

“Do you have any other quads?” Yoongi is asking as Minhyuk and Jooheon approach. Jiyong nods at them in greeting, but he’s listening attentively to Changkyun and Yoongi’s conversation. 

“I _kind of_ have a quad flip,” Changkyun says. He gives Minhyuk and Jooheon a small smile by way of greeting. Only Minhyuk returns it.

“What do you mean, ‘kind of’?” asks Yoongi.

“I mean—it’s not, um, consistent. Like, I’ve landed it maybe twice.”

“When did you start practicing them?”

“Within the last six months.”

“Pretty recently, then.”

“Yeah.”

Yoongi nods. “Show me.”

Jooheon holds his breath as Changkyun goes for the quadruple flip, but exhales in surprise when he pops it into a double. After he lands, he glances sheepishly at Yoongi and Jiyong, awaiting their critique.

“Because you didn’t know the rule, I’ll let that one slide, but if you pop a jump, you get fifty torture twists,” says Jiyong.

Changkyun’s expression changes. “Only fifty?”

Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, _only_ fifty?”

“CL gave us a hundred and twenty if we popped a jump.”

Jooheon stares at the kid in horror. Jiyong throws his head back and laughs loudly at the arena’s ceiling, and a smirk crawls across Yoongi’s face.

“That’s my girl,” says Jiyong, still laughing. “That’s the CL I know.”

“Yah, don’t give him any ideas.” chastises Minhyuk, but he’s grinning.

“Do it again,” Yoongi commands. “Just go for it—I want to see your technique.”

And Changkyun goes for it. Jooheon watches carefully. It’s doomed right from the take off, though—he doesn’t bring his knee all the way through, so the jump is underrotated, and he falls to the ice with a loud clatter. 

“What did you do wrong?” Yoongi calls.

Changkyun thinks about his answer as he gets back to his feet; the left side of his hip is coated in ice from the fall. 

“I need to bring my knee through more,” he breathes eventually, gliding towards the group.

Yoongi nods, satisfied. “Show me a triple.”

Jooheon watches carefully again as Changkyun goes for a triple flip. He lands it, but it just looks like another average triple flip. There’s nothing particularly special about it, and Changkyun seems to be aware.

Jiyong also seems to recognize it. “You don’t like flips, do you?” he asks with a chuckle.

Changkyun breathes a laugh, shaking his head. “I’d rather do a lutz.”

Jooheon tries not to gape. _Okay, this kid is crazy._

“You’d rather do a _lutz_ over a _flip_?” Minhyuk repeats loudly, jaw flapping. “And I thought _Kihyun_ was weird!”

“I heard that, asshole!” Kihyun shouts from where he’s watching up on the second floor. Minhyuk flashes him a finger heart, smiling big. 

“Technique takes a long time to change, kid. Don’t worry. You only just started learning it and you’ve got months until your senior debut. But that’s what we’ll work on, okay?” Jiyong says. “Your salchow is fantastic, but it’s also less than ten points in terms of base value. We need to add a couple more quads to your arsenal. Our goal for you should be three quads by the time the season starts.”

Changkyun nods, sipping from his water bottle. “Toe loop?”

“Sure, if that’s the one you want. Show me a triple toe. Remember, hips through.”

The kid has pretty good technique, Jooheon admits to himself begrudgingly as he watches Changkyun go for the toe loop. With the exception of his flip, all the jumps Jooheon has seen him throw have been fully rotated with very little prerotation, and he lands almost all of them solidly. Not to mention that the salchows Jooheon has seen him throw have been technically perfect every time. It’s a testament to how good of a coach CL is—Changkyun’s technique is excellent, and there isn’t a doubt in Jooheon’s mind that he learned it from her. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Yoongi says, satisfied, as Changkyun makes his way back over. “We’ll start doing quad rotations off ice, first. Starting next week.”

Changkyun nods. He picks his blade guards up off the top of the barrier. 

“All right. Jooheon, Minhyuk, go warm up. Russian stroking, cross rolls, and heel clicks. Go,” Jiyong barks. 

“I’ll meet you in the dance studio. I just need to get my notebook,” Yoongi says to Changkyun. “Good work today.”

Jooheon takes off before he has a chance to hear Changkyun’s response. 

But it’s fine. He doesn’t care, anyway. Really. Not at all.

* * *

“You’re being an idiot.”

“Come on, Kihyun, what now?”

Kihyun actually looks frustrated when Jooheon turns around to face him. 

“I haven’t even done anything,” Jooheon complains. “What are you grilling me for?”

“You have to stop taking this kid’s arrival as a personal offense,” Kihyun says shortly. “He’s not threatening you by being here.”

Jooheon stares at him. There’s a pointed silence.

“Okay, so he’s kind of threatening you by being here,” Kihyun admits belatedly. “But he’s threatening _everyone_ by being here. You’re not the only one who’s at competition with him. Like Seokjin said the day before he came, he’s part of our family now. He’s a really nice kid, Jooheon. You’re gonna warm up to him at some point.”

Even though Jooheon doesn’t want to admit it, Changkyun is very quirky and does seem like a cool person. He’s already made quick friends with Minhyuk, Hyungwon, Jimin and Taehyung, and now it seems he’s roped Kihyun and Hoseok into his tangle as well. Jooheon sighs; he’ll be the last man standing if it comes down to it.

* * *

Jooheon has his first real interaction with the kid about a week and a half after he arrives, and even though he knew it was inevitable, Jooheon is proud of himself for avoiding it as long as he did. 

Jooheon has exactly ninety minutes of free time on Saturday mornings, in between his dance lesson with Seokjin and his ice time with Jiyong, and during those ninety minutes he likes to stretch or exercise in the small gym on the second floor of the arena. He enjoys those ninety minutes in particular, because everyone else is in the studios or on the ice. No one else is there, and he can play his own music on full blast while running on the treadmill. It’s great.

“Oh, I didn’t know someone else would be in here.”

And then Changkyun shows up. 

Because, of course, the newbie has ninety minutes of free time on Saturday mornings, too.

Jooheon glances over his shoulder at him and stops the treadmill. The kid is standing in the doorway with a small bag and a bottle of water, looking a little sheepish. 

“The other two dance studios are occupied,” he says. “Do you mind if I...”

Jooheon waves him off, already annoyed. “Whatever, man. Just don’t talk over the music?”

Changkyun nods silently and comes further into the room; he places his bag and water bottle on the floor before heading towards the closet by the stereo and pulling out a yoga mat. Jooheon starts the treadmill again. The studio is settled on the second floor, and the wall in front of the treadmills is actually a big glass window overlooking the ice. Currently, Hyungwon, Kihyun and Hoseok are having a private lesson with Jiyong, and as Jooheon runs on the machine, he watches them skate, fully intent on ignoring Changkyun’s presence and immersing himself into the music again. And he does manage to do that, for a few minutes, before he registers the fact that Changkyun is humming along to the music quietly.

Jooheon glances behind him. Changkyun has settled himself into his left split, which of course is perfectly straight and horizontal, and is nodding to the beat and humming the lyrics. 

“You know this song?” Jooheon asks. He’s not sure why he asked. The answer seems obvious.

Changkyun nods. “It’s a good song. I respect your playlist.”

Jooheon tries not to feel flattered, and instead says, “I don’t need your respect.”

Changkyun looks at him in surprise. Jooheon bites his lip; he guesses that was a little uncalled for. It’s not like the words are true, either way. He’ll get Changkyun’s respect when he crushes him in competition.

“You’re strange.”

Jooheon stops the treadmill and turns around to look at the kid. He’s looking at Jooheon as he lowers himself into his right split, which is also all the way down, and his head is tilted to the side curiously.

Jooheon narrows his eyes, wiping his neck with a towel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Changkyun shrugs and bends his left knee, then grabs it over his head. “Nothing bad. Being weird is a good thing. I’m weird. You’re just weird in a different way.”

Jooheon scoffs. “ _You’re_ the one who’d rather do a lutz than a flip.”

“And _you’d_ rather do an axel than any other jump. Most people would say that’s the strangest of all.”

Now it’s Jooheon’s turn to stare in surprise. How would the kid have learned something like that? Jooheon’s done all he can to avoid being in the same room as him unless they’re doing group exercises. He feels weirdly exposed, but he’s not sure why. It’s not a secret that the axel is Jooheon’s favorite jump.

“I’m not judging you. I mean, with an axel as good as yours, I’d only ever want to do an axel, too.” Changkyun continues, letting go of his back leg. Jooheon watches as he rotates his hips so his back is to Jooheon and he’s in a perfectly straight straddle stretch, and Jooheon tries not to wince as he watches the kid easily flatten himself on the floor, resting his chin in his folded arms.

“I could say the same about your salchow,” Jooheon says, a little defeated. This kid is observant, too. 

Through the giant mirror on the wall opposite the treadmill, Changkyun shoots him a smile. Jooheon can’t bring himself to return it. He’s suddenly out of energy. He doesn’t feel like continuing his workout and he’s not in the mood to spend much more time around the new kid, so he turns towards the stereo and starts to pack up his belongings. Changkyun seems to get the memo, because, still in his ridiculous stretch, he reaches for the little bag he brought with him and pulls out his phone and earbuds. 

“You can use the stereo, if you want.” Jooheon says.

Changkyun pauses, halfway through the process of putting one earbud into his ear. “That’s okay. You won’t like my music.”

Jooheon frowns. “I’m not staying in here much longer.”

“Oh.”

And he falls silent. Instead of getting up to plug his phone into the stereo, like Jooheon expects him to, he puts both earbuds in, taps on his phone for a moment, and then folds himself in half again. Jooheon shakes his head and resumes packing his stuff. 

He has a strict routine he follows when packing up his things, no matter what they are. First, whatever equipment he brought with him—his skates, resistance bands, ankle weights, and in today’s case, his jump rope, which he hadn’t actually used—goes into the bag first, followed by any clothing he’s not wearing, folded carefully and meticulously for optimum space saving. On top of all the clothing lays his notebook. He takes the notebook everywhere, with a mechanical pencil stored in the spiral binding, and he uses the notebook to track his progress on specific skills. His water bottle goes in next, in the little side pocket of the bag so the condensation on the exterior of the bottle doesn’t get everything inside the bag wet. Very last is his phone and earbuds, folded in the sleeve or pocket of whatever jacket or sweater is in the bag, hidden under the notebook. 

Over the years, he’s found that forming and sticking to routines grounds him, in a way. Makes him feel in control. Taking off and putting on his right skate first gives him a sense of security, like a pre-competition ritual. Having a highly personalized routine is part of how Jooheon maintains his composure in high stress situations.

He doesn’t get the feeling that Changkyun is the same way. From what he’s seen, Changkyun is a klutz when he’s not throwing gorgeous quadruple salchows. He’s forgetful. He’s oblivious. And yet, he isn’t. Jooheon can’t stand it. He doesn’t understand him. He doesn’t get how Changkyun can appear so mindless, and yet, on the ice, Changkyun is the picture of grace. He’s likable, too; everyone at the rink seems to like him. Kihyun had hinted that eventually Jooheon will fall for him, too.

But Jooheon doesn’t want to like Changkyun. He's weird, he’s too damn flexible, and he reminds Jooheon of a kid he’d met when he was maybe six years old at a public rink in Gwangju before he’d moved to Seoul. Jooheon remembers being frustrated with the kid for being in his way, but he doesn’t remember much else. He doesn’t remember what he’d been doing or what the other kid had been doing, but what he does remember is feeling similarly to how he feels right now. Annoyed, but not sure why. Intrigued, and trying not to be.

Jooheon doesn’t want to like Changkyun. But he’s starting to realize that Changkyun is particularly hard to hate.

* * *

Things come to head a week later, when a scheduling conflict on Yoongi’s part somehow results in Jooheon and Minhyuk on the ice at the same time as Changkyun. Changkyun had been having private, hour-long lessons with Yoongi seven times a week in addition to general practice, but a forgotten appointment has Yoongi leaving the rink on Monday morning in a rush and Jiyong decides to let Changkyun join Jooheon and Minhyuk’s session. It’s not a decision Jooheon is particularly happy about, but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“Jooheon, what do you want to work on today?” Jiyong asks.

Jooheon thinks for a moment. “Quad toe?”

Jiyong nods. “Sure. Start with a double.”

After going through his usual warm up routine, he does a couple of double toe loops, and at Jiyong’s permission does some triples. At some point, music begins to play, but it’s not a song he recognizes. When he looks up, he sees Changkyun in the middle of the rink, and then he begins to skate to the music. Minhyuk is watching, as he tends to—he gets distracted when someone is going through a routine on the ice—but Jooheon doesn’t let himself get curious, even though he’s never seen Changkyun’s program before.

He lets himself practice in his own little world for a while, waiting for Jiyong to finish up with Changkyun. He stops paying attention to Changkyun and Minhyuk around him, goes through his spins while he has a corner of the ice to himself.

“Watch out! _YAH!_ ”

Jiyong’s warning comes too late. 

Jooheon is thrown forward as a heavy force hits him from behind, sending him skittering across the ice. He catches himself on his hands and knees, but pain explodes in his back and the heels of his palms and his kneecaps. There are several gasps and someone close to Jooheon yelps, but he’s too focused on trying to breathe through the pain. He’d run into someone, that much is obvious, but—who? And why?

There’s a pained cough from Jooheon’s left, and he looks behind him; Changkyun is half lying on his left side, cradling his right elbow. His expression is screwed up in discomfort.

“Are you okay?” Changkyun asks, wincing, as he tries to sit up.

Rage swells over Jooheon like a tidal wave.

“Why weren’t you watching where you were going?” he shouts before he can stop himself.

His own voice echoes around the rink, which he registers immediately is dead silent. Changkyun’s expression falls in hurt surprise. Jooheon glances over his shoulder to see Minhyuk frozen where he stands, watching with his hands over his mouth, and Jiyong properly glaring bullets into both of them.

“You ran into me,” Changkyun defends weakly.

“His music was playing, Jooheon. He had the right of way.” Jiyong snaps. He’s skating towards them, and his expression is thunderous. “Are you okay?”

Jooheon can’t tell who the coach is talking to. He doesn’t answer, suddenly feeling like he might cry. 

Jiyong looks at him and sighs. “Go take five, Jooheon. I’ll talk to you in a minute.”

He doesn’t wait to be told twice. Without checking to see if Changkyun is okay, he turns away from both of them and skates towards the edge of the rink, where he shoves his blade guards on and hurries into the locker room. He manages to avoid everyone else until he gets there, and once he’s safely within the walls of the empty locker room, he sits down and lets himself cry for a few minutes. 

He only gives himself about three minutes to break down. Jiyong will walk in any minute and Jooheon would rather die than let the coach witness him in tears. He feels a little better after crying, but his heart is still heavy.

He manages to dry his tears and clean his face and is looking at the bruise forming on the left side of his back by the time Jiyong walks into the locker room. Jooheon hears him before he sees him; the coach’s blade guards have a very distinct sound, and he looks over his shoulder just as the older man pushes through the door. He takes one look at the bruise on Jooheon’s back and points at the bench by the lockers.

“Sit,” he barks.

“Is Changkyun okay?” Jooheon asks, obeying Jiyong immediately.

Jiyong fixes him with a sharp look. “He’ll be fine.” He sits down with a heavy sigh next to Jooheon on the bench, surveying the darkening spot on Jooheon’s back. “Are you okay?”

Jooheon nods. He doesn’t trust his voice. 

Jiyong nods curtly, then looks Jooheon straight in the face. “Now. Want to tell me what that was all about?”

Jooheon doesn’t answer. 

“Running into someone else is extremely unlike you. I'll cut you a little slack, because Changkyun jumps clockwise and if he didn’t, you’d have been able to avoid him, but I know you’re more attentive than that.” Jiyong scolds.

Jooheon keeps his head down because he knows the coach is right. Jiyong stares at him for a moment, then sighs and relaxes a little.

“I know you miss Gunhee,” he starts gently. “And I know you’re frustrated that Changkyun is different from you. Unfortunately, Jooheon, it’s not an excuse to be a prick. I need you to find a way to tolerate him. You don’t have to love him, but as long as you’re both training under my roof, you’re teammates. He hasn’t had it easy, either, you know? He’s all by himself in Korea. His family is still in America. You’re the closest to his age here; I had hoped you two could at least bond over being the youngest. Maybe you can find something else in common. He’s willing to extend his hand to you, Jooheon. You need to be willing to take it.”

“Yes, coach.” Jooheon says softly. 

He wishes he could bring himself to say something else, because it isn’t about Gunhee anymore. Not really. He’s been able to talk to Gunhee a little over text, and his departure doesn’t sting as much, especially because Gunhee hadn’t gone very far. There’s a lot he wishes he could say, but Jiyong isn’t his parent. Jiyong is a coach; he is someone who pushes Jooheon to be the best he can be, he is someone who teaches, who guides people. He’s not a parent figure. Not to Jooheon, at least. He can’t tell Jiyong why he dislikes Changkyun. 

The biggest problem is, he can’t even explain to _himself_ why he dislikes Changkyun. Aside from his general clumsiness and ditziness, there’s not a lot to dislike about him. 

Besides, Jiyong isn’t necessarily the easiest person to talk to. He doesn’t let his athletes cry or swear, and if they get angry they’re sent to do conditioning. Jiyong is good at what he does, but he’s a tough coach—the best of the best, coaching at the Olympic level. Jooheon is softer than he likes to say, and can’t always handle Jiyong’s criticism. Jooheon is lucky his friends are around him. Without them, he’d have cracked a long time ago. 

“Come back on the ice when you’re ready, okay?” Jiyong says. “If you need a couple more minutes, that’s fine.”

Jooheon nods. The coach leaves the room. Jooheon takes another minute to pull himself back together, and then follows him out.

* * *

Word travels incredibly quickly around the rink, and by the end of the day everyone has heard about Changkyun and Jooheon’s collision. Jooheon is approached several times within a span of half an hour, asked if he’s okay and if Changkyun is okay, and he finally has the time to find Changkyun after a group conditioning session. He finds Changkyun alone in the locker room, changing out of his sweaty shirt, and tries not to look at Changkyun’s toned arm muscles as he clears his throat to get the kid’s attention.

Changkyun startles, and as he turns Jooheon catches sight of a couple of dark bruises: one is on his elbow, and the other blossoming across the rightmost side of his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” Jooheon asks.

Changkyun gives him a confused, slightly wary look. Jooheon gestures silently at the bruises.

“Huh? Oh, no. It just looks bad,” Changkyun says with an awkward laugh. He reaches for another shirt, hanging on the suspension rod in his locker, and slips into it quickly. Jooheon notices him wince. 

“I, uh, wanted to apologize. For running into you and for yelling,” Jooheon says. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

“It’s okay, Jooheon. I’m not angry.”

Of course he’s not angry. Jooheon almost wishes he was. But it seems he’s too damn nice for that.

“Are you hurt?” Changkyun asks.

“No.” Jooheon lies. The bruise on his back is starting to hurt a little, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. 

Changkyun nods, and looks back to his locker. It’s a bit of a mess; his skates are resting haphazardly inside, surrounded by unfolded clothing and other bits of equipment. Jooheon cringes at the sight, and starts to leave.

“Jooheon?”

He turns back to face Changkyun as the kid puts the empty hanger back on the suspension rod and he faces Jooheon fully. He’s dressed darkly; he’s wearing a black, thin, long-sleeved athletic top and Adidas running pants, and a pair of black running shoes. A puffy vest the color of charcoal is folded over his arm. 

“Are you leaving?” Jooheon asks, confused. He himself won’t be leaving the rink for another two hours or so.

Changkyun shakes his head. “Just going for a run.”

“You can use one of the treadmills upstairs. That’s where I’m headed.”

Again, the kid shakes his head. “I prefer running outside. But I was going to ask—Jiyong mentioned to me earlier after we crashed that he’s going to be running a... well, he called it a simulation, but I didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant. I was hoping you’d know.”

“A simulation?” Jooheon repeats. Then he realizes what Changkyun is talking about, and sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “He and Yoongi and Seokjin like to do these mock competitions every now and again. Worlds is coming up in March, and since none of us are competing in Four Continents, I’m sure they’re replacing that particular competition with their own.”

Changkyun nods, slipping into his vest. “I see.”

“He’ll tell us more about it later, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

As Changkyun pulls his earbuds, wrapped around his phone, out of his vest pocket, he gives Jooheon a smile, and Jooheon realizes the kid has dimples. He moves closer to the locker room door and as he does so, the light catches his hair, dark and soft, and as he passes Jooheon, still smiling, Jooheon sees his canine teeth, white and sharp, and thinks his smile looks a bit like a puppy.

The door swings shut behind Changkyun. Jooheon stops. His heart is pounding.

_Fuck._

* * *

Sure enough, towards the end of the day when they’re doing group cooldown stretches, Jiyong walks into the dance studio where Seokjin and Yoongi are watching the boys stretch, and the first thing out of Jiyong’s mouth is, 

“We’re holding a competition simulation next week.”

Next to Jooheon, Minhyuk groans quietly and slumps over in his split. There’s a deep sigh from Hyungwon, who is folded neatly in half in pike position.

“I know, I know.” Jiyong says. “But since none of you are competing in Four Continents this year we thought we’d set up something anyway. It’ll get those of you who are going to Worlds in the mindset for competition before the season ends.”

Jooheon thinks for a moment; he knows Hoseok and Kihyun are competing in the World Championships, but he can’t remember who else. A quick glance at Namjoon, though, tells him, the tall skater from Ilsan is also going to Montreal.

Jooheon isn’t exactly excited for the simulation, but he’s not dreading it, either. He’s mostly neutral, but he’s a little surprised Jiyong is setting this up so soon after Changkyun arrived at the rink. Jiyong hosts these simulations up to three times a year, usually during the summer, and he tries to make it as realistic as possible. J-hope and Shownu act as judges, and the skaters get dressed up and wear makeup as if they really are competing, and occasionally Jiyong will advertise a mock competition so people who live around the area can come watch and make it feel even more legitimate. It’s been a while since Jooheon’s worn his costume. It’ll be nice to feel as though he’s competing again. 

“Are we doing both the short program and free skate?” Hoseok asks.

Jiyong nods. “Same as last time. J-hope and Shownu will judge, as well Seokjin and Yoongi. It won’t be public, though. This is just for us.”

Later, when the boys are dismissed for the day, the sun is setting as Jooheon enters the locker room, and it sends a bright orange glow cascading across the floors. Minhyuk, Kihyun and Hyungwon are already in the room when Jooheon approaches his locker. The days are still cold, even though February brings a little warmth, and as Jooheon pulls his coat off of one of the hangers in his locker, he checks to make sure all of his belongings are in their respective spots within the box. The lockers themselves aren’t so much lockers as they are individual shelves for each skater, and they’re quite large—they’re tall, wide, pale wooden lumbering things that line each wall of the room—but there’s only about twenty of them, and they’re all connected to each other, linked by a long padded bench. 

They take up lots of space; there’s three total compartments in each shelf. At the very top of each shelf, nearest to the ceiling, is a cubby for running shoes and water bottles. The middle compartment, which is the biggest, is a wide space with a suspension rod for bags, jackets and costumes directly underneath the top cubby, with plenty of room under the suspension rod for skates. The padded bench that connects them all in one long line runs through each self at the base of the middle compartments. There’s another cubby at the very bottom, underneath the padded bench, for exercise equipment. At least, that’s how Jooheon organizes his space. Other athletes like Minhyuk and Changkyun aren’t as careful as Jooheon is.

“You excited, Jooheon?”

Jooheon glances over his shoulder at Minhyuk as he shrugs on his parka over his athletic top. “Excited for what?”

“For the simulation next week.” Minhyuk says, pulling on his gloves.

Jooheon gives him a funny look. “Why would I be excited?”

“You’ve won the last four simulations,” Hyungwon points out. “I thought you’d be roaring to do it again.”

“I have no plan to lose, if that’s what you’re asking.” Jooheon grins.

Kihyun laughs. He’s in the process of putting his skates on—he must have a private session with Jiyong later—and he winces slightly as he puts his left foot into the boot. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jooheon, or Minhyuk.

“You’re gonna need new skates by next season,” Minhyuk says, poking at the flimsy ankle of Kihyun’s skate.

Kihyun bats his hand away. “Shh, don’t let Jiyong hear that.”

Jooheon doesn’t blame him for being reluctant to get new skates. The process of breaking in new skates is painfully arduous, and at the professional level, extremely expensive. But skating on broken down skates is dangerous, and Kihyun can’t afford to hurt himself if he’s going to be competing in Montreal in a month.

"You wouldn't have this problem if you wore Jacksons," Minhyuk says cheekily, and dodges, laughing, as Kihyun swings a fist at him.

“Bad timing, huh?” Hyungwon says, pulling his coat off the hanger in his cubby. “Jiyong will notice sooner or later.”

“And it’s dangerous to skate in broken down skates,” Jooheon adds.

“I know,” Kihyun whines. He laces the boots tightly, and Jooheon cringes at the obvious instability of the ankles. Kihyun sighs as he sits back up, staring wistfully at his feet. “I'll have to wrap tape around them anyway. Here’s to hoping they’ll last until Worlds.”

Minhyuk and Jooheon raise imaginary glasses. Kihyun smiles, and stands up. He slips his black guards onto the blades and waves at them as he makes his way out of the room.

“Good night, guys,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Night, Ki!”

* * *

The day of the competition, they have a brief group stretching session before everyone disperses. Because Jiyong tries to make it as realistic as possible, most of the boys get deeply into the competition mindset, Jooheon included. He spends most of the morning alone, with his earbuds in, blocking out the noise and hustle and bustle of the rink around him. 

They’re split into groups of four and five. The first group is Hyungwon, Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin. Hoseok, Kihyun, Minhyuk, Jooheon, and Changkyun are in the second group. Each group is given five minutes to warm up before the short program, and after all nine of them have performed their programs, they wait a long, anxious thirty minutes in the lounge before their scores are posted on the corkboard on the wall by the lobby doors.

Jooheon is pleased to learn he’s in first place, with 84.35. He’s less pleased to learn that Changkyun is right behind him with 83.89. There’s less than a point separating them. Kihyun is in third with 80.67, and Jimin is in fourth with 79.12. Hyungwon places last with a 77.98, and all of the scores in between him and Jimin are incredibly close. Overall, they’re not bad scores. They’re the kind of scores that would give them a fair shot at the podium in a legitimate competition. They’re the kind of scores that Jiyong expects his pupils to achieve. Those high numbers are customary of Jiyong’s athletes.

Because he’s in first after the short program, Jooheon is skating last in the free skate. He plugs his earbuds in and wanders around after changing into his costume. He’s not moving enough to be exercising, but just enough to keep his body stimulated. He, like most other boys at the rink, finds that fully immersing himself into the music pumping through his earbuds is an effective distraction from the nerves and excitement that comes with competing. He’s nervous, of course he’s nervous. Playing the waiting game, waiting until it’s his turn, is always the worst part. At least the music helps calm him down.

He hides in one of the dance studios while the boys perform their free skates. He doesn’t usually watch them compete even in real competitions. He does, however, listen for Changkyun’s name, and when Yoongi calls him over the intercom, Jooheon leaves the studio, pulls his earbuds out, and watches from a corner of the area.

Changkyun’s costume is various shades of green, paired with solid black pants. The torso of the costume is a dark pine green, a color that reminds Jooheon of a forest, and the sleeves are a lighter, more yellow shade of lime. There’s spiral and swirl patterns across the chest, complete with sequins and rhinestones, and the top is cut low, teasing his chest. His hair is slicked back, and Jooheon is surprised to see hints of smoky eyeshadow towards the corners of his eyes.

He looks good. He looks really good. Jooheon feels his stomach turn over.

Aside from the judges and Jooheon, no one else is in the rink area. He and Changkyun are the only ones who have yet to perform, and he’s sure the other boys are upstairs in the lounge, relaxing and awaiting their scores. He’d have thought they’d want to watch Changkyun, but he’s alone in the shadows of the rink’s corner.

The chords of Changkyun’s music play, and then he’s off. Jooheon doesn’t know the song, but it’s an instrumental song. There’s no lyrics—only the deep thrum of a bass guitar, an electric guitar, and the heavy bang of drums. Changkyun opens with his trademark quadruple salchow, and of course he lands it as well as he always does. He makes it look so easy.

After a couple more beautiful jumping passes, a guitar riff signals his choreography sequence, which he goes through with beautiful fluidity and deep, sharp edges, and he finishes the sequence with a stooping cantilever that is so low to the ice the backs of his hands come away frosty when he stands back up. Jooheon swallows.

He lands every jump in the routine. By the time the final notes of his music play, and he’s finishing his last combination spin, Jooheon knows he’s got no chance.

As Changkyun takes a bow to an audience that isn’t there, Jooheon disappears back into the locker room, feeling a little like he’s on autopilot. He shucks off his jacket and hangs it carefully on the hanger. He pulls his earbuds out and wraps them carefully around his phone, which he tucks into his bag. He looks at himself in the mirror on his way back out; he looks at the baby blue fabric and the black floral designs trailing up his back and around his shoulders. 

“And for the last skater in the free skate, representing South Korea, Lee Jooheon.”

He hurries out into the rink area and steps onto the ice, spreading his arms, pretending he’s okay. Jiyong is standing in his normal spot at the far left edge of the ice, leaning onto the barrier. He gives Jooheon a solid nod, and gestures to his shoulders. _Keep check of your axis,_ Jooheon understands the message to mean. Jooheon nods in return, and takes his position.

He wishes he hadn’t watched. He wishes he was blissfully ignorant of Changkyun’s stellar performance. Even if he performs every jump to the absolute best of his ability, it won’t be enough to take the lead. He wishes he wasn’t aware of it.

The piano begins to play. It’s a soft, tinkling sound, at the very beginning. Jooheon eases himself into the music. His first jump isn’t until the high pitched piano is joined by the violin, and then the deeper keys of the piano. He leaps into his triple axel-double toe, and lands without any hesitation. Jiyong claps loudly from the left side of the rink. Jooheon pretends the coach’s clapping belongs to an entire audience.

Once he lands his second jump, his triple lutz-triple toe-double toe, he finds it easier to let the music take him through the performance. Growing up, music had always been as important to Jooheon as skating itself. He’s painfully picky about his competition music, always has been. He’s got to really feel it; he’s got to let the notes and keys and chords trickle down his spine, flow through his limbs, from his core to the tips of his fingers. Only then can he truly perform like no one is watching.

He lands his next three jumping passes, but as the music crescendos, he falls on his triple loop. He lands too far back on the blade, and the end of his blade gets caught in the ice, sending him backwards onto his rear end. It’s a jarring pull from the flow of the music, and fighting back a groan of frustration, he gets back up and tries to submerge himself back into the violin and piano. Thankfully, he’s only got one jump left—a triple flip, which he lands cleanly before diving headfirst into his final combination spin of the program.

The music comes to an abrupt finish, as he knows it will, and he hits his finishing pose. Jiyong applauds, and Jooheon looks up in surprise when he hears another set of hands join in. He quickly finds the source; Changkyun, _of course_ , is up on the second level, watching. He’s smiling. Jooheon forces himself to smile back. 

* * *

Changkyun beats Jooheon by three points.

* * *

Jooheon isn’t a sore loser, but this particular competition has stung him a little. He didn’t even really lose—he took the “silver medal” with a total score of 259.76. But Changkyun beat him with 262.90, and even though Jooheon wants to be frustrated, he’s really just tired. They have a short medal ceremony of sorts, but there’s no physical medals or anything. It’s a small congregation where Jiyong recognizes who’s done the best, what everyone needs to work on for the upcoming season, et cetera. He also makes a point about Kihyun’s skates, and the short skater blushes at the chorus of laughter that follows. Jiyong lets the boys go home after that.

Jooheon stays behind in the locker room after everyone goes home, thinking deeply to himself. It’s not a bad loss. It’s not even really a loss. He can’t remember ever feeling so discombobulated about a result before, and he’s not even really sure what he’s frustrated about. Is he frustrated he lost, or is he frustrated he lost to _Changkyun_?

He doesn’t know. 

“Oh, what are you still doing here, Jooheon?”

He glances up as Kihyun comes into the locker room. He’s not wearing his skates; he’s carrying them, and his feet are socked in the black nylons he always wears.

“Uh, just thinking, I guess,” Jooheon says. ‘What about you?”

Kihyun gestures to his skates. “Jiyong wanted to talk to me about changing blades.”

“Change _blades_?” Jooheon repeats, furrowing his brows. “What? Why?”

“Says he thinks it’ll help with my spins.”

“But your spins are great.”

Kihyun shrugs, and pulls the guards off the blades as he sits down next to Jooheon on the bench. “I’ll have to talk to my parents about it. That’ll be fun.”

Jooheon grimaces, but doesn’t say anything more. He looks down at his feet; he’s still wearing his skates. He hasn’t bothered to take them off. He hasn’t bothered to change out of his costume, either.

“What’s on your mind, Joo?”

Jooheon glances over at Kihyun as the shorter athlete begins putting his skates in his bag. He shrugs. Kihyun looks at him, and he looks a little unimpressed.

“Don’t be sad. You were only three points behind him.” 

“I know. I don’t know why I’m upset. Or if I’m upset. I just… I feel weird.” Jooheon sighs. “Like, I’m disappointed I lost—”

“You didn’t lose, Jooheon.”

“—but at the same time I’m glad I lost to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I can’t understand the way I feel about him. I don’t want to like him, but not liking him is hard.”

“Why don’t you want to like him, Joo?” 

“He’s clumsy. He’s—he’s forgetful, and leaves his stuff everywhere, and he just—he’s just all over the place. I can’t stand it. How is it that he’s such a _weirdo_ and yet he’s somehow the best? He doesn’t have _any_ kind of method and he just—just _wins_!”

“Jooheon, have you ever thought that maybe his lack of a routine _is_ his routine?” Kihyun says.

Jooheon stays quiet, waiting for Kihyun to continue.

“I mean, you’ve found something that works for you, that makes you feel in control. Your little routines and methods—those keep you calm. They keep you grounded; they keep you in control. You don’t like having to just go with the flow. And that’s okay,” Kihyun continues sagely. “But Changkyun isn’t like that. He’s made his peace with not having control over every little thing about his life. And look at him. You’re right—he wins. And there’s nothing wrong with the fact that he doesn’t have meticulous habits. Because he makes it work for him.” 

Jooheon bites his lip, mulling over Kihyun’s words.

“I don’t understand that. _How_ does that work for him? How can he just… let things go by?” he sighs, frustrated. “I don’t get it.”

Kihyun sits down next to Jooheon and takes his hand. “You don’t have to understand it. You should respect it, and you shouldn’t try to change him, because it’s pretty clear he’s content how he is. But you don’t have to understand it. I mean, Minhyuk is arguably more of a disaster than Changkyun is. You don’t hate him, do you?”

“No, but I don’t understand Minhyuk either.” Jooheon mumbles.

Kihyun laughs. “Fair enough.” He squeezes Jooheon’s hand. “Think about what I said, okay? Your differences make you great skaters. You know better than anyone you shouldn’t hate someone just because they’re different from you.”

Jooheon nods sullenly. 

“I don’t think you hate him, Jooheon.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“I think you like him.”

“How can I like him? I don’t know anything about him.”

“You wish you did.”

Jooheon looks at Kihyun in surprise. The expression on the older athlete’s face is one Jooheon can’t read. He hates it when he can’t read his friends.

“He’s pretty,” Jooheon mumbles without thinking. “I wish he wasn’t. Maybe I’d like him less.”

Kihyun gives him a soft smile. “You should talk to him. He’s a nice kid.”

“I _know_ that. That’s what _everyone_ has been saying since he got here.” Jooheon whines. “But he probably hates me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the only one who hasn’t been welcoming.”

“Jooheon, if you’d spend more than five minutes in his presence, you’d know he can’t hate anyone. He was _clapping_ for you after you performed today.”

Jooheon remembers. In his mind’s eye he sees Changkyun up on the second level, looking over the glass rail at the ice below, smiling as he applauds. His hair had been slicked back still, and the fluorescent lights behind him had made him look almost angelic. Jooheon sighs, surrendering.

“I think I like him,” Jooheon says weakly.

Kihyun nods, gives him a gentle smile. “ _Talk_ to him, Jooheon. You have free time on Saturday mornings together. Your lockers are right next to each other. I’m sure you’ll find something to talk about. You won’t be the only one who benefits from being his friend.”

Jooheon nods, and Kihyun squeezes his shoulder before leaving the room. Suddenly alone in the silence of the locker room, Jooheon puts his earbuds in and begins to change clothes. He takes his skates off—takes his right skate off first, as usual—and puts them away carefully before changing out of his competition costume. He stares at the baby blue top for a moment, hanging neatly on the hanger in the middle compartment of his shelf, and he feels the metal wire coiled around his lungs start to ease. He exhales, and his gaze slides past his shelf to the foresty green costume hanging on the suspension rod in the shelf directly next to Jooheon’s. He smiles.

What he feels for Changkyun is genuine. That much he knows; that much is real. But he also knows that he’ll continue to have to swim his way through these complex emotions, because relationships are never easy. He knows there are things about Changkyun that will drive him crazy, and will _always_ drive him crazy. But he supposes that there are probably things about him that will drive Changkyun crazy. 

A few weeks ago, Changkyun had been a stranger. And now, he’s still a stranger, but he’s not so bad. He’s still peculiar, and Jooheon still doesn’t even begin to understand him, but he’s not so bad at all. And maybe Kihyun is right. There’s no denying Changkyun is a brilliant skater. Jooheon was the king of the rink before Changkyun showed up, but now, Jooheon supposes, he’s got someone to share the throne with. 

Changkyun is weird, but he’s not mean. He’s just Changkyun—he doesn’t try to label himself, or fit himself into a category or routine. He just _is_. And maybe, Jooheon thinks, just maybe, that’s okay.

Maybe Jooheon will be happier once he stops trying to understand him and starts trying to appreciate him. 

The next Saturday morning after the mock competition, Jooheon invites Changkyun to stretch with him, and tells him he wants to listen to Changkyun’s playlist. Changkyun’s face splits into a giant, toothy smile at the offer. Jooheon’s heart flutters in his chest, and he can’t get the image of the blinding grin out of his head the entire day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m currently breaking in new skates with completely different blades and I will tell you it is _not fun_
> 
> Reminder that I'll write requests for ships that aren't canon in my universe :) as long as your request is centered around skating, I will write it!
> 
> Also the next chapter is going to be _l o n g_ so I hope you're all excited!! Actually, if it ends up being long enough, I'll post it as a one shot both here and as an individual work, because I am damn proud of how it's turning out ^-^


	6. Baby, You're So Cold (HyungKyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyungwon, Korea’s Ice Prince, meets Changkyun, the prodigy dubbed Korea’s Sunshine.
> 
> 19.0k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by ChangkyunIsMyBaby. Thank you for your request! I’m starting to fall in love with HyungKyun, especially with the most recent comeback <3
> 
> Side note: the ages have been changed slightly. For the sake of this story, Hyungwon was born in 1996, and Kyun was born in 1998. Also, Hyungwon is blonde, because Blonde Ice Prince Hyungwon is yes
> 
> [Hyungwon’s Olympic Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNLgtt-rRlw&list=PLQakza9kEFrJVqZOdnMor1bLjWXp-Fl-q&index=12) / [Hyungwon’s Olympic Costume](https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/Txc4GST1ybJSh4mPs90iTHlXtVs=/0x0:1099x733/1400x1400/filters:focal\(0x0:1099x733\):format\(jpeg\)/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/28622761/yuzuru_hanyu013.0.jpg)

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Skate Canada — Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada. November 2014._ **

Hyungwon meets him for the first time at his second competition at the senior international level. 

At first, Hyungwon doesn’t think anything of him. He’s just another kid who wants recognition. Lim Changkyun is a name that means nothing to Korea’s Ice Prince.

This year, they’re the only two competitors in the Grand Prix series who are representing Korea, and by coincidence, they’re both competing in Skate Canada. Truthfully, Hyungwon doesn’t care about the other kid at all until he’s asked about him in the press conference before the competition begins.

“How do you feel about your new teammate, Lim Changkyun?” A reporter asks. Her eyes are wide with curiosity.

Hyungwon furrows his brow. New teammate? Hyungwon doesn’t have teammates. 

“What do you mean, how do I feel?” Hyungwon asks bluntly. Standing off to the side, behind the reporters, Jiyong’s gaze sharpens into a stern glare. Hyungwon fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Sorry, can you explain a little more?”

“He’s a two time Junior World Champion, and a three time Korean Junior National Champion. He’s a new favorite of many figure skating fans these days. Do you feel threatened by him?”

Threatened? He’s never even met the kid. Hyungwon could’ve laughed in her face. But the dark stare he’s getting from Jiyong tells him to think carefully before he speaks. 

“I have no plans to lose.” Hyungwon says coolly. 

The reporters seem to want to know more, but at that moment the warm up before the short program is called. Hyungwon is skating in the second group, so he has more time before he gets on the ice, but he’s relieved when the flock of reporters begins to disperse. He can tell a lecture is imminent, though, by the look on Jiyong’s face as he wades through the throng of people towards the small dais Hyungwon stands on.

“You need to work on your people skills,” Jiyong says lowly as they begin walking towards the warm up room behind the curtains. “They’re just as important as skating if you want to be successful in this world. If you’re an asshole to reporters, you’re not going to be a fan favorite.”

Hyungwon doesn’t reply as he shrugs into his Team Korea jacket. He doesn’t care about being liked. 

* * *

There’s a television in the warm up room where Hyungwon is stretching, and he watches the free skate as it happens while going through his split sequences. The first group is full of skaters who are making their senior debut, and their nervousness is palpable; he can almost feel their anxiety through the television screen. 

He sits up a little straighter when Lim Changkyun takes the ice. He’s the last skater in the first group, and to Hyungwon’s surprise, he’s the only one who doesn’t look like a total wreck as he steps onto the surface, raising his arms at the deafening applause that greets him. His costume is black and grey; it’s pretty simplistic, actually, and it looks good on him. The camera zooms in on his face as he reaches his beginning pose. He’s dark haired and dark eyed, and he has a gracefully long nose and thin lips.

Hyungwon glances over his shoulder when he feels a presence beside him. Jiyong, with his arms crossed over his chest, is standing next to him. His eyes are trained on the television. He’s wearing what Minhyuk likes to call his Coaching Face: his lips are pursed and his eyes are narrow and calculating. Hyungwon looks back at the screen as the music begins, and then the kid is off.

“Who’s his coach?” Hyungwon asks.

“Kim Heechul,” Jiyong replies distantly.

Hyungwon throws a smirk at Jiyong over his shoulder, and Jiyong glances at him, amused. Heechul had been Jiyong’s biggest rival while they were competing. Now that they’re both coaching, they’re competing to put their students on top instead.

Lim Changkyun isn’t bad, Hyungwon realizes fairly quickly. Unlike all the other boys in the first group, Changkyun looks totally comfortable on the ice. His movements are fluid and connected, graceful and clean. It dawns on Hyungwon instantly that he’s a leftie. His first jump, a triple axel, has excellent height and he has a nice, tight air position. Hyungwon is pleasantly surprised, actually; Changkyun is the first skater Hyungwon has seen who doesn’t look like a baby giraffe learning to walk for the first time.

(Okay, so maybe that was a little mean. Hyungwon remembers his nerves when he’d finally moved to the senior level, two years ago. But a gold medal at his first senior competition had swiftly and permanently banished the anxiety.)

Changkyun throws a quadruple toe loop, and it gets two bonus points for grade of execution. Hyungwon is trying not to be impressed. His last jump is a triple lutz, triple toe loop, which is also landed cleanly and fully rotated. Behind him, Jiyong makes a noise that Hyungwon knows means he’s either satisfied or impressed.

Changkyun has the audience on its feet by the time he’s finished. People in the audience are waving Korean flags and signs with Changkyun’s name. This surprises Hyungwon; it seems the reporter was right. He feels as though this kid has come out of nowhere, but that could be because Hyungwon doesn’t watch junior competitions anymore. He only watches senior competitions that he’s not actively competing in, and that’s only if he feels up to it in the moment. This kid has been around for a couple of years. 

Hyungwon just hasn’t been paying attention, it seems.

“Not bad,” Jiyong says as the kid takes a bow. “Not bad at all.”

Something in Hyungwon’s stomach clenches when the kid’s short program score appears on the television screen. 89.72. Changkyun’s coach hugs him tightly, and he smiles a wide, toothy smile.

That score is too close to Hyungwon’s own most recent short program score. He’ll have to make sure the kid knows who the king is.

Hyungwon is skating very last in the short program, so he still has a while to wait after the six minute warm up. Before the competition started, the only other person Hyungwon was even remotely concerned about in terms of technical skill is Zhang Yixing, who Hyungwon knows is a fierce competitor. He’s older than Hyungwon and is therefore more experienced, and he has a couple of brilliant quadruple jumps in his arsenal. 

But Yixing takes a hard fall on his quadruple loop and pops his triple axel into a single when it’s his turn on the ice, and he places fifth with a 79.12, a full ten points behind Lim Changkyun. 

So, Hyungwon is nothing less than confident when he steps onto the ice, glittering in his dark purple costume, and he holds his blonde head high as he glides out into the middle of the rink. The cheers of the audience and his own name being chanted is music to his ears, but it silences quickly as the first keys of his music begin.

He usually puts his everything into every routine, but this time he pushes himself a little harder than normal. His landings are sharper and his movements are fast and in time; he gets great height on all of his jumps; his edges are deep and beautiful. He goes through the program one element at a time, as Jiyong often tells him to, and by the time the music finishes, his heart is light and airy. He feels like he’s been walking on clouds.

As is customary, the crowd erupts into cheers and screams, and Hyungwon gives himself a moment to breathe, feeling exceptionally proud of himself. He exhales, then takes his final bow, and heads towards Jiyong. The coach is smiling, nodding, as he unlocks the barrier door with Hyungwon’s black blade guards in hand. 

“Excellent job, Hyungwon,” Jiyong says, voice laced deep with satisfaction. 

Jiyong claps Hyungwon on the shoulder as Hyungwon pulls his guards onto his blades. As he stands back up he tosses his blonde bangs out of his eyes. The adrenaline is starting to fade, and he follows Jiyong towards the Kiss and Cry.

They wait for about five minutes. Jiyong’s expression is blank, but Hyungwon knows he’s looking forward to the score just as eagerly as Hyungwon is. 

“The score please…”

Hyungwon grins widely. The crowd explodes again. 95.23.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Jiyong laughs, grinning as he takes Hyungwon’s hand. “That’s the score of a winner!”

Hyungwon’s smile gets wider. That’s what he likes to hear.

* * *

Because Hyungwon is first after the short program, he’s going last in the free skate. This also means he’ll be warming up with Changkyun, because Changkyun will be second to last in the free skate. As the announcer calls for the second group to begin warmup, Hyungwon hands Jiyong his blade guards. The two men standing by the barrier doors pull them open to allow the skaters onto the ice.

“Triple axel,” Jiyong instructs as Hyungwon walks by. Hyungwon nods once, stepping onto the ice.

As he does so, he catches sight of Changkyun talking to Heechul. Hyungwon can barely see Heechul’s face behind his curtain of long, curly hair, but he’s talking animatedly to Changkyun, who is listening intently. He’s wearing his Team Korea jacket, so Hyungwon can’t see his costume, but he can see the smoky eyeshadow and light makeup on Changkyun’s face.

After warming up a couple of single and double jumps, Hyungwon throws a triple axel, and relishes in the burst of applause from the audience that follows the very moment his blade touches down again. He glances at Jiyong, who nods and beckons him over. As Hyungwon glides towards his coach, he unzips and pulls off his Team Korea jacket and Jiyong reaches for it.

“Lutz,” Jiyong says, taking the jacket and folding it over his arm. “Triple.”

Hyungwon nods again and turns away, and looks across the rink just in time to watch Changkyun leap into a quadruple toe loop. And it’s brilliant. The crowd loses its mind again. 

Undeterred, Hyungwon ignores him, and does his lutz as Jiyong instructed. He lands it solidly, and he grins at the screams from the audience. 

The six minutes of warm up time go by very quickly, and it feels like only thirty seconds later when time is called and Hyungwon follows the other skaters off the ice. As the doors shut behind him and the announcer calls the next skater’s name, Jiyong hands Hyungwon his jacket and blade guards.

“Bring your knee through in your flip,” Jiyong advises, “and your head back in your biellmann spin.”

Hyungwon nods, a little breathless. He’s not overly worried, but the competition mindset will always include a little anxiety. He stuffs his earbuds into his ears as soon as the first skater’s music begins to play, and follows Jiyong behind the curtains, where he sits in his dressing room for nearly half an hour.

“Hyungwon,” Jiyong calls eventually. Hyungwon looks over at him, pulling one earbud out. “Do you want to watch Changkyun skate? He’s next.”

Hyungwon scoffs. “I’ve seen enough of him already.”

“If you say so,” Jiyong shrugs, then adds with a smirk, “I’m betting you’ll be seeing a lot more of him in the future.”

Hyungwon ignores the comment and puts his earbud back into his ear. Five minutes later, Jiyong appears again, signalling that it’s finally Hyungwon’s turn.

“What’s his score?” Hyungwon asks casually, following Jiyong back into the rink area.

“One hundred and eighty-eight point two six,” Jiyong says. 

Hyungwon narrows his eyes. That’s three points higher than Hyungwon’s personal best. He remains silent as he pulls off his blade guards and jacket, handing both to Jiyong and stepping onto the ice. It’s all bitten and scratched up by the previous skaters, to Hyungwon’s chagrin. It’s one of the perks of going last in the free skate, Hyungwon guesses—if you’re first after the short program, you get marked up ice to skate on. Oh well. Hyungwon has skated on worse surfaces.

He turns to his coach on the other side of the half-wall, awaiting his pre-competition pep talk.

Jiyong takes Hyungwon’s hand in a firm grip and leans in close. “You gonna let him take your gold?”

“Not a chance,” Hyungwon murmurs stonily.

Jiyong nods with a gentle smirk and shakes Hyungwon’s hand, still holding it tightly. “Knee through in the flip. Head back in the biellmann. One element at a time.”

Hyungwon nods. One element at a time. 

“Take a deep breath.”

Hyungwon does so; he rolls his shoulders back and shakes out his arms on the exhale. Jiyong lets go of his hand, smiles and gives him another encouraging nod. 

“And the last skater in the free skate, representing South Korea, Chae Hyungwon!”

He pushes off the wall towards the centre of the ice, raising his arms as the audience cheers. He can see Korean flags and big, elaborate posters and signs with his name, both in English and Hangul. He smiles to himself, taking his beginning pose.

He’s performed this routine a million times over. He knows it by heart. He lets his body take over, because his muscles know what to do; he allows his body to feel the music in its entirety. His opening quadruple toe loop-triple toe-double toe is flawless, and he grins: that’s easily about fifteen points alone. One thing he can appreciate is that the judges know how to score his programs properly. He knows when his jumps deserve positive grade of execution points, and he’s satisfied to see that the judges are competent enough to know as well.

He lands all of his jumps. He brings his knee through on his triple flip; he leans his head back in his biellmann spin, just like Jiyong instructed. When the music ends, Hyungwon tunes back into the world and the first thing he registers is the applause. It’s thunderous, and the dome almost shakes from the intensity. He grins, and several members of the audience throw little lavender bears onto the ice as he takes a bow. 

As he skates towards Jiyong, he picks up one of the little purple bears and smiles at it. It has cute, sleepy eyes and a double chin, and it’s dressed in pajamas. 

Jiyong greets him with his Team Korea jacket and blade guards as he steps off the ice, and he claps Hyungwon on the back, grinning, as he pulls the guards onto his blades.

“Well done, Hyungwon,” he says brightly. “Excellent job.”

Hyungwon is still a little winded from the adrenaline and exerting himself, so all he does is nod gratefully and smile.

His ears ring from the loudness of the cheers that follow his free skate score. 194.57. A new personal best, and a first place finish.

* * *

The medal ceremony takes place the next night, after the ice dance segment of the competition. It’s a relatively small competition compared to, say, the Olympics or the World Championships, but as Hyungwon and Changkyun took first and second respectively and are from the same country, they’re asked to stand on the first place podium together and hold a Korean flag. 

Changkyun smiles at him as he joins Hyungwon on the first place podium, and Hyungwon gives him a smile that feels and probably looks more like a grimace. The silver medallion around Changkyun’s neck catches the lights above them and as he stoops to receive the Korean flag from his coach, it swings back and forth. 

Hyungwon takes one end of the flag as Changkyun unfolds it and they open it together, letting it hang in front of their bodies—but not so high it hides their medals. On the third place podium, a half a foot below them, a skater from Spain wears his flag like a cape, but the bronze of his award doesn’t shine as bright as Hyungwon’s gold.

“Congratulations on your gold,” Changkyun says suddenly, startling Hyungwon a little. His voice is deeper than Hyungwon had expected. The kid is baby-faced, he really is; he has a long, sharp nose, but a head of fluffy dark hair, plump cheeks and a sweet, small smile. It’s no wonder the Korean public seems to love him. He’s like the Korean Shoma Uno.

Hyungwon nods shortly. “Thank you.” 

And he leaves it at that.

He feels Changkyun’s eyes on him for a moment, but keeps smiling at the cameras and the crowd as the Korean anthem begins to play. The gold medal, resting squarely on his sternum, is pulling painfully on his neck, but a weight this heavy has never felt so good. 

* * *

A month later, the Grand Prix Final occurs in Barcelona. Hyungwon takes gold and Changkyun takes bronze. Of course, their podium finishes had required them to stand together with the Korean flag again, which had been nothing short of awkward as Changkyun had tried to congratulate Hyungwon on his third gold of the season. When Hyungwon finally returns to Korea, he’s more than a little glad to be rid of the boy, at least until they go head to head at Nationals.

Jiyong gives him exactly two days off to recover from the excessive traveling. Minhyuk invites himself over both of those days.

“Let’s see them, then,” Minhyuk demands within five minutes of stepping into Hyungwon’s apartment.

Grinning silently, Hyungwon leads Minhyuk into his bedroom, where the three gold medals he’d received in Canada, Russia and Barcelona are hanging on the sparkly blue medal rack on his wall. Hyungwon stands proudly with his hands on his hips as Minhyuk inspects the medals with a wide grin.

“Congratulations,” Minhyuk says. “They’re the first thing you see when you wake up and the last thing you see before you go to bed.”

“I did that on purpose,” Hyungwon says pointedly.

“Of course you did.”

Minhyuk accompanies Hyungwon to his physiotherapy appointment the next day before practice, as well. Being a university student, Minhyuk’s schedule is more flexible than it had been when they were high school students, and Hyungwon appreciates it when he makes time to spend with Hyungwon. Between Hyungwon’s training and Minhyuk’s classes, they don’t get to see each other as often as they did when they were kids. They’d grown up together; they’ve been friends since elementary school. Even university couldn’t separate them: when Hyungwon decided to forgo university for the time being to focus on skating, Minhyuk chose to attend the university nearest to Hyungwon’s training facility. He’d said he’d done it because he hadn’t wanted Hyungwon to be lonely all the way in Seoul, since Hyungwon’s family had stayed behind in Gwangju, but Hyungwon has always suspected that Minhyuk did it because he’d miss him.

However, Minhyuk is, at the end of the day, a busy university student, so as they wait for Hyungwon’s personal trainer, Hyunwoo, to appear, he studies. He’s majoring in education, wanting to be a teacher, and Hyungwon leans his head on Minhyuk’s shoulder as the older man flips through the virtual pages of his textbook on his iPad screen.

“Hyungwon?”

They both look up; Hyunwoo approaches from the left door with a gentle smile. “I’m ready for you.”

“Do you want to come with me?” Hyungwon asks Minhyuk, standing up.

“No,” Minhyuk says, waving him off. “But we can get coffee after. I’ll wait here.”

Hyungwon nods, and follows Hyunwoo into the room.

“Congratulations on the gold medals,” Hyunwoo says as Hyungwon slips out of his sweater and lays down on his stomach on the padded table. 

“Thank you.”

“How’s your back been?”

“Better. The twinginess is still annoying, though.”

“Still in the same spot?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still feel it the most when you land your jumps?”

“Yeah, mostly. Jiyong has been having me do layback and biellmann spins recently, though, so that’s also probably part of it.”

“Have you been stretching before performing those spins?”

Hyungwon opens his mouth to answer, but the reply is stolen from his tongue and he winces sharply when Hyunwoo digs his elbow into the spot of pain in his lower back. This is always the worst part. Hyunwoo is wonderful at what he does, so Hyungwon usually feels great after every appointment, but the pain in the moment is something Hyungwon will never get used to.

The appointment doesn’t last longer than about forty-five minutes, mainly because Hyunwoo doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary. He massages Hyungwon’s back; uses the scraping tool on Hyungwon’s calves; has Hyungwon use the foam roller on his thighs. As he predicted, Hyungwon feels much better after the appointment, and once he meets Minhyuk in the lobby again, he pays for the appointment and leaves.

“I’m gonna take you to a new coffee shop,” Minhyuk says as they head for Minhyuk’s car. “Remember Jooheon? The music production major I was telling you about?”

Hyungwon pauses, thinking, as he gets into the passenger seat. “Yeah, I think so. The one you said smells like baby powder?”

Minhyuk grins. “That’s him. He works at the coffee shop I’m taking you to. It’s about time you finally met.”

Hyungwon shugs, pulling on his seatbelt. “I’m down. Time to see if he really smells like baby powder.”

“I’m telling you, he does! He makes this cologne himself—he smells like a newborn.”

“That’s… weird.”

“He’s really sweet,” Minhyuk pouts, putting the keys in the ignition. “I think you’ll like him.”

Hyungwon believes him. Minhyuk knows him better than anyone.

* * *

As it turns out, this Jooheon character is on his break when Minhyuk and Hyungwon walk into the coffee shop, a modern little building tucked out of the way of the busy streets of Seoul, but the first thing he does is offer to make them both coffee on the house. 

“I know Minhyuk likes lattes, so what can I get you?” Jooheon asks, springing to his feet to hurry behind the counter. “We’ve got plenty of Christmas-themed specialties, now that it’s December.”

“Surprise me,” Hyungwon says with a smile. “Anything fat-free is good.”

“Fat-free peppermint mocha, coming up,” Jooheon says with a big smile. He has wonderful, deep dimples. And Minhyuk is right—he smells like baby powder.

After making their drinks, Jooheon sits down with them at a table towards the back. His coworker, a veterinary major at the same university named Minji, agreed to cover his break time so they could chat for a little bit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Jooheon says cheerfully. “Minhyuk would only talk about you while you were competing. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks. How did you meet Minhyuk?” Hyungwon asks. He takes a sip from his coffee. It’s delightfully warm and pepperminty. 

“We have a psychology class together,” Jooheon explains. “I was late one day and he let me borrow one of his pens.”

“He’s been attached to my hip ever since,” Minhyuk complains jokingly. He laughs loudly when Jooheon feigns swinging a fist at him.

Hyungwon smiles into his coffee. They seem like they’re pretty good friends already. Hyungwon is glad, really; he travels a lot now that he’s competing internationally and he’s relieved that Minhyuk has people to hang out with when he’s gone. That hadn’t been the case when they were in high school.

“Also, we know each other because our mutual friend keeps hosting study groups and dragging us along.” Minhyuk adds. “He’s also taking psychology, but at a different time of the day.”

“He told me he invited Changkyun for this weekend’s study session, since he’s finally back,” Jooheon mentions casually.

Hyungwon almost chokes on his coffee.

“Wait, did you say Changkyun?” He splutters, trying not to cough all over Jooheon. “As in, Lim Changkyun?”

Jooheon looks at him in surprise. “Yeah. I thought you knew him.”

“I do. I mean, not well, but I know of him,” Hyungwon mumbles. “I didn’t know he’s based in Seoul.”

“He moved up here a few years ago. He was born in Gwangju, but his family lives in the States. He came here to train,” Jooheon explains. “But he’s also a student at our university.”

Hyungwon narrows his eyes. This is news to him. “What does he study?”

“Um, it’s either athletic science or fitness and nutrition. I can’t remember,” Jooheon says. “I don’t know him super well. We don’t really see him around. Training and stuff. He’s really close to Kihyun, though. They’ve been friends for years.”

Kihyun? Hyungwon recognizes that name; that’s another student Minhyuk has talked about. Probably the study group person he mentioned earlier.

Hyungwon shoots a look at Minhyuk. “Did you know? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Minhyuk doesn’t look fazed by Hyungwon’s snappy tone. “I thought you knew. People are saying he’s gonna be your biggest competition. I kind of expected you to look into him. He’s got a Wikipedia page; all it would have taken was a quick Naver search.”

Hyungwon pouts into his coffee. He’s suddenly very unsettled by the idea of Changkyun training so close to him. Across the table, Jooheon laughs awkwardly, and Minhyuk, the God of Reading The Air that he is, smoothly changes the subject by asking how Jooheon is faring with the research paper they’ve been assigned for their psychology course. This sends Jooheon into a loud rant about their professor, a rant that Minhyuk quickly joins in on, but Hyungwon can’t even find it in him to brag about the fact that he’s not in college.

It seems he’ll have to pay more attention to Lim Changkyun than he thought he would.

* * *

A month later, a little over a week after Christmas, is the Korean National Championships. Hyungwon’s short program goes perfectly, but then he takes an uncharacteristic fall on his triple lutz about halfway into his free skate. 

During the medal ceremony, Changkyun stands half a foot above him on the first place podium. The silver medallion around Hyungwon’s neck is an unpleasant kind of heavy.

* * *

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Grand Prix Final — Tokyo, Japan. December 2015._ **

Tokyo is a lovely city, Hyungwon decides. It reminds him very much of Seoul, but it’s still different in a way that Hyungwon can’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it’s because when he thinks of Seoul, he thinks of being younger, he thinks of Minhyuk—he thinks of home. Seoul is home. When he thinks of Tokyo, he thinks of skating. Tokyo is a competition.

And he’s here to win.

Just like last season, he already has two gold medals under his belt for this Grand Prix series. The first, he’d achieved in Paris, in Grand Prix France, and the second is from Rostelecom again. Prior to landing in Tokyo for the Grand Prix Final, he had been stubbornly and deftly avoiding knowing the results of the other four competitions within the series. But, as fate played her cruel game, within five minutes of disembarking the plane at the Tokyo airport, he’d come face to face with a giant electronic sign listing the main competitors in the final. He’d seen his own name, of course, next to a pixelated cut-out of his face, but directly under him, as he’d correctly guessed, was Changkyun.

He should have expected this, really. Jiyong often compares Japan’s love of figure skating to America’s love of tackle football. 

A quick Naver search once at his hotel room—Minhyuk would be so proud—tells him that Changkyun had competed in America and Canada, the first two locations in the Grand Prix series, and had taken gold in both competitions.

And against his better judgement and knowledge, Hyungwon watches Changkyun’s short program and free skate when he finds they’ve been uploaded onto YouTube. This is how he finds out that Changkyun’s total score is about seven points higher than his own by base value alone. In addition to his totally flawless quadruple salchow, biellmann spin, quadruple toe loop, and triple lutz-triple toe loop, Changkyun has added a fourth rotation onto his flip, and his score has skyrocketed. 

So, Jiyong is rather unpleasantly surprised when Hyungwon bursts into his room five minutes later, asking if he can add another quadruple jump to his routine.

After recovering from the initial shock, Jiyong actually laughs out loud. “You’re kidding, right?”

Hyungwon stares at him. The smile falls from his mouth.

“You’re serious,” Jiyong sighs, sitting down on his bed. “Do you mean, like, right now? Like, replace one of your triples with a quadruple jump, right now?”

“I’m not opposed.” Hyungwon says.

Jiyong scoffs. “Okay, well, _I_ am. We haven’t practiced many quads other than your salchow and toe loop, which are already in your program.”

“Right,” Hyungwon says, “and they have the lowest base value of all the quads.”

“What’s your point?”

“I want a quad loop.”

It’s Jiyong’s turn to stare. There’s a brief pause.

“A loop.” He says eventually. He sounds like he can’t believe what he’s saying.

Hyungwon nods, confident. “My loops are great.”

“A quad flip has a higher base value than a quad loop.”

“Yeah, but only by point-five. I want a loop,” Hyungwon says.

Jiyong sighs again. “Okay. When we get home we can work on them with the harness.”

Hyungwon nods, satisfied. At least he managed to avoid telling Jiyong _why_ he wants a quadruple loop. That’s a conversation he knows won’t end well with the coach.

* * *

The next day is the competition itself, and based on what he’s seen so far, he can tell it’s going to be him and Changkyun alone in the race to the gold medal. He tries again to persuade Jiyong to let him change his triple loop into a quadruple, but Jiyong firmly shuts down the idea and Hyungwon gets an earful of why it’s a dangerous idea. 

So he stretches, alone, with his earbuds in, in the warm up room as the short program begins. He and Changkyun are both skating in the second group and it will likely remain that way for the free skate, as well, so he takes extra care to stretch more thoroughly than usual. His costume is a little itchy and prickly under his Team Korea jacket, but he ignores it.

Time flies, and suddenly it’s the second group’s warmup. Hyungwon is the last to step onto the ice, and as he hands Jiyong his blade guards, the coach gives him a stern look.

“Triple loop,” he says. “If you try to quadruple it, you’ll be in for a world of hurt once we get back home.”

Hyungwon sighs in defeat, but takes the threat seriously. Jiyong would never do anything to jeopardize Hyungwon’s chances while at competition, but there’s no telling what kind of horrible conditioning he’ll make Hyungwon do once they’re back within the safe walls of his base rink.

He can tell Jiyong’s gaze is particularly scrutinizing this time as he goes for the loop, and he lands it easily. When he glances back at the coach, nodding appreciatively to the storm of applause, he can see Jiyong nodding in contemplation. Hyungwon smirks. Victory.

He doesn’t bother watching the other performances once the six-minute warmup is over, and as he stretches at the ballet barres in the warm up room, he focuses on the extension of his legs and arms and fluidity in his movements as he waits for his turn. It comes quickly, and the familiar sound of applause is what greets him when he steps onto the ice again. He turns to Jiyong, waiting on the other side of the rink barrier, and hands him his jacket.

“Check your axis,” Jiyong is saying. He nods sharply. “One element at a time.”

“One element at a time,” Hyungwon repeats.

“Deep breath.”

Hyungwon does so. He shakes out his arms on the exhale. 

“The last in the short program, representing South Korea, Chae Hyungwon!”

To his utter horror, even after a flawless performance, his short program score puts him not in first, but in second place. His score, 95.88, is less than half a point behind Lim Changkyun’s score of 96.12. He can’t even bring himself to smile as the scores slide onto the screen; his insides feel like they’re made of the very ice he’d just skated on. When Jiyong elbows him, he waves at the camera, and he receives a disapproving look from Jiyong, but in that moment, it’s all he can do. A smile is too much to ask.

He ignores Jiyong as they clear the ice in preparation for the free skate and, knowing he’s got well over an hour before he needs to get back into a competitive mindset, he lets himself shake it off, knowing he’ll take first with the free skate.

There is no other option. For him, it’s gold or nothing.

He often surprises himself with this thought. It wasn’t always like this. When he was a kid, he looked forward to competitions mainly because he liked being on the ice with everyone’s eyes on him. At the age of eight, he’d won his first tournament, and the plastic trophy, however old and dusty it might be, is still sitting on his parents’ dresser back in their home in Gwangju. 

Maybe that was when it changed. Maybe that’s when gold became his favorite color.

“Okay, Hyungwon,” Jiyong calls an hour later. “Are you ready?”

Hyungwon rolls his shoulders back and grins at the satisfying pops that follow. He glances at the coach, runs a gloved hand through his blonde hair, and nods.

He’s not used to going second to last in the free skate, and knowing that someone is going after him puts a sour feeling in his stomach. Jiyong’s words, however familiar they may be, continue to ring in his mind. These words have become a sort of mantra to Hyungwon; they calm him. 

“One element at a time” puts him in a methodical, step-by-step mindset. After all, it’s the math equation that solves the problem. It’s the technique that makes the jump.

He hasn’t felt like he’s got something to prove in a long time, so he really lets himself fly with this performance. He wants to show the world—he wants to show _Changkyun_ —he won’t let the gold out of his grasp so easily.

And the program is impeccable. There’s tears in his eyes—not that he’d admit it—when he takes his final bow, and as he glides towards Jiyong, there is an incredibly satisfying expression of wonder on his coach’s face. Jiyong grins as Hyungwon pulls his blade guards on, and instead of his usual shoulder clap, he pulls Hyungwon into a deft hug.

“That’s how you skate to win,” Jiyong praises. Hyungwon dips his head; the words are music to his ears.

He’d performed a season’s best of 199.36. This score, coupled with the 95.88 he’d earned in the short program, sends him flying into first place with 295.24. He’s a full fifteen points above the skater in second, a man from Spain whose name Hyungwon doesn’t remember.

Only six minutes later, he comes down from the blissful high he’d been riding. Changkyun’s free skate score comes in: 200.12. He’s in first with 296.24.

One full point ahead of Hyungwon. 

Jiyong whistles. “I’ve never seen scores so close before.”

Hyungwon grits his teeth.

During the medal ceremony, they’re asked, just as they had been last year, to stand together and hold the Korean flag, only this time their positions are swapped: Hyungwon is standing on the second place podium and Changkyun is all smiles on the first place podium. The gold medal around his neck goes well with his glittering costume of sapphire and dark purple. 

“Congratulations on your silver,” Changkyun says joyfully.

Hyungwon shoots him a look. He tries not to look too affronted, mindful of the cameras.

“Rubbing it in isn’t very good sportsmanship,” he bites back under his breath.

Changkyun’s smile doesn’t fall, and his gaze remains cast on the audience and the dazzling white camera flashes. “I’m not rubbing it in. I’m genuinely congratulating you on a race well run.”

Hyungwon isn’t convinced.

“You should lighten up,” Changkyun continues. “A silver medal is still a medal. Winning isn’t the only thing these competitions are good for, you know.”

Hyungwon tries not to curl his lip. It sounds a little too close to something Jiyong or Minhyuk would say, and he's far too bitter to take it into consideration at this moment.

“You should learn to take these more seriously,” Hyungwon advises coldly. “Only once you can walk the walk are you allowed to talk the talk.”

There’s a pause as Changkyun takes in what Hyungwon had said.

“Well, with your attitude, I can’t say you’re much of a good sport, either.” Changkyun murmurs.

The comment strikes something in Hyungwon’s chest, but he doesn’t rise to the bait; he doesn’t justify it with a response. He remains silent until they’re allowed off the podiums, and the conversation—if it can even be called that—ends there.

And of course, they’re immediately bombarded by sports journalists, reporters, and tabloid writers looking for gossip. Changkyun is dragged away by his coach to another corner of the rink for his press conference, and Hyungwon is cornered with his back to the wall as a group of wide-eyed, story-hungry pressmen flock towards him, much like a wake of vultures falls upon a delicious bit of roadkill.

“Mr. Chae! Mr. Chae,” someone shouts over the clamor, and he looks around to find the same reporter woman who had first brought Changkyun to his attention, the year before. “Can you give us a few words on your rivalry with Lim Changkyun?”

 _Rivalry? Is that what this is?_ Hyungwon thinks. But the more he ponders, the more he agrees. 

“What would you like me to say?” Hyungwon asks with a forced chuckle. 

Across the room, Jiyong gives him a look that clearly says, “watch your step.” Hyungwon lets his eyes linger on the coach only for a moment to let him know the message has been received.

“Making the 2018 Olympics team is your biggest goal, is it not?” The reporter asks eagerly. “Don’t you see Lim Changkyun as a threat to your spot?”

“Not particularly.” Hyungwon says coolly.

“Really? When asked, he’d told us he’s looking forward to making the team _with_ you.”

Hyungwon bites back a surprised laugh. _Is that so?_

“I hope he’ll be happy with the silver, if that’s the case,” Hyungwon says cheekily.

The crowd titters in surprise, and he wonders briefly if he’d said the wrong thing, but the reporters and interviewers seem to be eating it up. 

“So what can we expect from this rivalry, then?” Another reporter yells over the racket. “A race to the Olympics?”

Hyungwon lets a smirk curl into his lips. 

* * *

After the Grand Prix final, Hyungwon had had exactly one month of training-slash-free time before Korean Nationals, which had gone surprisingly well. He’d beat Changkyun by a narrow margin of three and a half points after Changkyun popped his quadruple flip into a triple in his free skate, but this wasn’t the only thing the media was eating up: a pair of skaters who train under Changkyun’s coach had also made their senior national debut. It seems Heechul is a better coach than Hyungwon has given him credit for. Eighteen year old Boo Seungkwan, a tiny but powerful athlete from Jeju with a head of fluffy dark brown curls, had taken bronze. He’d been exactly thirteen points behind Changkyun. The other boy, seventeen year old Choi Jongho, had narrowly missed the podium; he had been less than two points behind Seungkwan.

Hyungwon is excited, to be honest. He’s been competing against international competitors for a while, and until recently, there hasn’t been much serious competition in Korea. He looks forward to crushing the new kids both at home and across the globe.

“Don’t get cocky,” Jiyong had warned. “Heechul knows what he’s doing. His athletes are going to take after him. Hell, they already do. Keep your chin up, but keep your ego in check.”

The words were harsh, but not uncharacteristic, and Hyungwon had dismissed them with a shrug. Call him arrogant, but he’s not afraid of the little kids Heechul is bringing onto the scene. 

* * *

**_ISU Four Continents Championship — Colorado Springs, USA. February 2016._ **

February brings the Four Continents Championship, which is a global competition that includes every continent except for Europe and Russia. (Europe and Russia have their own competition—creatively entitled the European Championships.)

Hyungwon enjoys Four Continents if for no other reason than it brings another chance to travel. The 2016 4CCs will be held in Colorado Springs, United States, and it’s the second time in Hyungwon’s career he’s ever had to go to America. He travels first and foremost to compete, but Jiyong is usually much more lenient with his pre-competition training than during the off season, so Hyungwon gets lots of extra time to sightsee and find souvenirs to bring back for Minhyuk and his parents.

This time, he’s found that the biggest threats he’ll be facing will be the skaters from his own home. Lim Changkyun, Boo Seungkwan and Choi Jongho had all qualified for the championships, and Hyungwon knows they’ll pack more of a punch combined than any other athlete he’ll go against.

Because it’s their first ever 4CC, Seungkwan and Jongho—who has dyed his hair a flaming red for the occasion—will be in the first group for the short program, and Hyungwon and Changkyun will be in the second group. And because of these arrangements, Changkyun and Hyungwon wind up in the same warm up room together.

Changkyun doesn’t interact with him other than to give him a bright smile, which Hyungwon returns with a tight grimace, and he parks himself down in front of the television on the wall, which is displaying the short program as it happens. Heechul is out in the rink area with Jonho and Seungkwan, so Changkyun is alone in the small studio with Jiyong and Hyungwon.

As he stretches, Hyungwon watches Changkyun, and watches the competition. Changkyun pays little attention to the other skaters. He only looks up when the announcer calls Seungkwan’s name. Even from inside the studio, Hyungwon can hear and feel the applause that erupts from the crowd when Seungkwan lands his quadruple toe loop, and, settled easily into his right split, Changkyun claps quietly to himself. He cheers for Jongho, too.

Hyungwon is blown away. How can the kid cheer for them? They may be his rinkmates, but at the end of the day they’re still his competition. 

Hyungwon glances at Jiyong. The coach’s nose is stuck firmly in a book, oblivious to everything around him. 

“Yah,” Hyungwon calls, getting Changkyun’s attention.

The dark-haired kid turns and glances over his shoulder. Hyungwon, out of the corner of his eye, sees Jiyong peek over the pages of his book.

“Why are you cheering for them?” Hyungwon asks, eyebrows furrowed. “They’re your competition, aren’t they?”

Changkyun shrugs and looks back at the screen. “Sure, but they’re still my friends. Only on the ice are they my competitors. Off ice, they’re like my brothers.”

“How long have you been training with them?” Hyungwon asks before he can stop himself.

“Years,” Changkyun says easily. “I’ve known Seungkwan since I moved here.”

Hyungwon vaguely recalls Jooheon mentioning that Changkyun lives alone in Seoul, and that his parents live in the States. He wonders if they’re here tonight, watching him. 

“You must know everything about how he trains and competes, then.” Hyungwon states matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you use that to your advantage?”

Changkyun looks at him over his shoulder as he slides slowly into his left split. “Well, first of all, that wouldn’t be fair, seeing as he doesn’t do that to me. Second of all, winning isn’t the most important thing in the world. I’d take home a ninth place ribbon knowing I did my absolute best, rather than take home a gold medal knowing I cheated to get it.”

Speechless. Hyungwon stares at him. 

“Are you implying I’m a cheater?” Hyungwon blurts.

Changkyun shakes his head. “No. I’m just saying winning isn’t the main reason I compete.”

“Then what is?”

Changkyun stands up, and looks solidly at Hyungwon as he does so. “Because I love it.”

* * *

The competition is just like Nationals all over again. Now that the Spanish skater, who Hyungwon finally learned is named Marcos Saldaña, is out of the picture, the biggest threats to his gold medal are Changkyun, Seungkwan, and Jongho.

In the short program, he pops his quadruple toe loop into a triple, and even though he lands his triple axel and quadruple salchow-triple toe loop, it’s not enough to get him into first, and he’s third after the short.

The free skate is admittedly worse. He pops his salchow and falls on his lutz-loop combination, and he’s seething by the time he gets his score.

At the end of it, Hyungwon takes bronze. On the second place podium stands a Japanese skater who had come out of nowhere, and in first place is Changkyun. Hyungwon internally feels as though he’s dying, but he smiles for the cameras, and he shakes hands with the Japanese man and Changkyun and holds the Korean flag with him.

He also learns that all of Heechul’s athletes, not just Changkyun, are like rays of sunshine. They all congratulate him on making the podium—even Seungkwan and Jongho, who had placed fourth and fifth! To say Hyungwon is astounded is an understatement.

To make things worse, Changkyun’s good sportsmanship and personality has earned him a new nickname among skating fans. They call him “Korea’s Sunshine,” and even though the nickname makes Hyungwon want to throw up, he has to admit it does fit the younger athlete. As much as Hyungwon dislikes the fact that Changkyun keeps beating him, it’s hard to keep a straight face around him. In the press conference after the competition, Changkyun makes a joke that has the entire crowd of reporters rolling with laughter, and Hyungwon himself has to bite his tongue to keep from giggling with them.

“Do you have any words to say about your rivalry with the Ice Prince?” one of the reporters demands.

Changkyun pauses, and Hyungwon wonders what he’s going to say. He thinks it’s fairly obvious that the reporter, by using the term ‘Ice Prince,’ is referring to him. 

He meets Changkyun’s eyes. Hyungwon can’t detect any kind of contempt or disdain or even any conceit in the younger skater’s dark chocolate irises. 

“I hope it’ll continue for years to come,” Changkyun eventually says. “And I look forward to competing against him at the Olympics.”

 _You do, do you?_ Hyungwon thinks, amused. _How curious._

* * *

Hyungwon sighs as he limps into the locker room, dusting ice off his hip. He’s frustrated and tired; Jiyong has extended his practice until he lands a quadruple loop. He’d just taken a particularly hard fall on said jump, and Jiyong had sent him to get his hip pads. It’s been a while since Hyungwon has had to wear the pads, and he’s not looking forward to having to wear it again. It’s a strangely-shaped, lumbering sort of thing: it goes on over his pants, kind of like a diaper, and as he pulls it down from the top of his locker, he stares at it in contempt. 

He doesn’t hear the locker room door open.

“What are you doing here so late?”

Startled, Hyungwon turns around; to his surprise, Minhyuk is standing in the doorway to the locker room. He’s bundled in a padded coat, scarf, and gloves, and he’s not smiling. 

“I could ask you the same question.” Hyungwon says. He hasn’t seen Minhyuk since he left for Colorado last week.

“We were supposed to get dinner tonight,” Minhyuk says coolly, crossing his arms. “But clearly, you have better things to do.”

And Hyungwon remembers with a sudden sinking feeling that he _had_ agreed to get dinner with Minhyuk the night after he returned from Colorado. They’d made that agreement weeks ago. He’d only just returned last night. Jiyong had given him the morning off, but of course that meant extended night practice. Between the hustle and bustle of trying to get home and the terrible heaviness the bronze medal weighed in his suitcase, It had completely slipped Hyungwon’s mind.

“Aish, Minhyuk, I’m sorry.” he says, and he really is sorry. But he’s also frustrated and tired and he feels like someone is squeezing his heart. “I forgot.”

Minhyuk shrugs and comes further into the room. “It’s okay.”

They both know it’s not okay. It hasn’t been okay since Changkyun beat him in Tokyo last December. There’s a brief pause. Hyungwon prepares himself for whatever Minhyuk is about to say—he knows Minhyuk knows what’s wrong. 

“Why are you so upset? You made the podium.” Minhyuk points out.

“Yeah, but I lost to _him_.”

“Oh, come on,” Minhyuk rolls his eyes. “You didn’t lose. You have a medal. You know fully well he matches you in terms of technical skill and artistry—a challenge like that should excite you, not make you angry. What is it about him that’s pissing you off? That he’s younger than you?”

“I wish he’d take this more seriously,” Hyungwon snaps. “He doesn’t care about winning, and yet he does.”

“That can’t possibly be true. He’s got to care. Why would he go through everything he goes through if he didn’t care?”

“You’ve never had to deal with him the way I have,” Hyungwon shoots back sullenly, sitting down on the bench underneath his locker. “You only know him in a school setting. He’s a fool. He told me he’d—you should have been there. He doesn’t understand that winning is the most important.”

“First of all, that’s bullshit, and you know it. Second of all, when did it stop being about skating and start being about winning, Hyungwon?” Minhyuk demands loudly, narrowing his eyes.

Hyungwon shuts his mouth. The uncharacteristic frustration in Minhyuk’s tone gets his full attention. Minhyuk is looking at him with a dark stare, the kind of stare that makes Hyungwon want to fidget.

“I’ve known you since we were kids, Hyungwon. Your bullshit can’t get past me,” Minhyuk says sternly. “When we were younger, all you wanted to do was skate. It was always the way skating made you feel. Like you were flying, is what you always said. When you were on the ice, you were flying. You did it because it made you feel above the world. It made you feel _good_. But now you only care about winning. Being first. Taking gold. Where did you go? Why did your attitude change?”

Hyungwon looks at the floor. He and Minhyuk don’t argue often at all, but when Minhyuk gets going, there’s no telling when or where he’ll stop. Hyungwon couldn’t make words come to his mouth if he tried.

“Changkyun might not care about winning as much as you do, Hyungwon, but—at least he knows how to have fun. At least he knows how to _lose_ and be a _good sport_ about it, because _you_ don’t.” Minhyuk spits. “Not anymore, at least.”

Minhyuk sounds truly angry. Hyungwon stares at a nick in the blade of his left skate. He doesn’t know what to say.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Hyungwon mumbles. It doesn’t mean anything—it’s completely irrelevant, even—but it’s the best he can do in the moment. It’s all he can bring himself to say.

Minhyuk heaves a long, heavy sigh. “Maybe I don’t. But I know _you_. I know you love skating. But—you seem to have forgotten _why_. You’ve gotten so obsessed with being the best that you’ve lost sight of why you really enjoy skating at all. You started competing because you loved it, not because you wanted to win. Winning didn’t matter to you when we were kids. Now, you compete because you want everyone else to bow to you. And I’m sorry, Hyungwon, but that’s just—no one wants to be like that. No one wants to be _friends_ with someone who is like that.”

Hyungwon swallows. There’s a brief pause. He’s reminded of what Changkyun had said to him in the warm up room only a few nights ago, and his chest tightens uncomfortably. Minhyuk is scrutinizing him. He can feel the tips of his ears turning red.

“Think about it for a second,” Minhyuk says, tone softening. “Why do you spend so much money? Why do you wake up at four in the morning every day? I’ve witnessed you cry because of pain and frustration. I’ve watched you _literally_ tape yourself back together—why would you put yourself through that? When we were kids, the answer would have been that you love it. You _love_ skating. But now the answer has changed. Why did it change?”

Hyungwon doesn’t reply, even though he knows the answer.

“You got used to being the one to beat,” Minhyuk answers for him. “And you let it get to your head.”

His tone is laced with finality. Hyungwon doesn’t know what hurts more: the fact that Minhyuk is saying this to him, or the fact that he’s entirely right.

“So what do you want me to do?” Hyungwon bites, swallowing a lump in his throat. “How do you want me to change?”

“Enjoy yourself next time you’re out there. I know it’s hard to do that sometimes, being an international athlete and all, but when it gets hard, just… try to remember why you love it. Remember being a kid, and being so excited to get up and go downtown to skate for a few hours. I know that under the sparkly costumes and the makeup and the stupid cold front you put up around everyone else, you’re just a boy who fell in love with the ice. I _know_ that’s who you are. But the world doesn’t. You have to show them. You have to show them that you can recover from a loss. You have to show them that you’re gonna keep going, and you’re gonna keep going because for you, skating is like breathing.”

Hyungwon still can’t bring himself to say anything. If he opens his mouth, he might cry.

Minhyuk sits down next to him with a soft sigh and takes his hand. His gloved hands are warm and he tenderly laces his fingers through Hyungwon’s frigid hand. 

“You’re the only one putting the pressure on you to win, Hyungwon. Lots of those people who go to those competitions don’t go to watch you win. That’s just a bonus,” Minhyuk says gently. “They go to watch you turn the sport into art. They go to watch you enjoy yourself and hone your talent. And that’s the truth.”

“It’s so much bigger than that, though,” Hyungwon whispers. “That might have been true when I was younger, but it’s not anymore. Not at the international stage.”

“I get it,” Minhyuk nods sagely. “And it’s okay that winning is important to you. But at the end of the day, a gold medal shouldn’t be more important than… loving a sport with your whole heart. A gold medal shouldn’t mean more than the knowledge that you went out there and you put on a show; it shouldn’t mean more than knowing that you showed that arena that you love what you do. A gold medal should be a bonus.”

Hyungwon disagrees; when he competes, he competes to win. But—that’s exactly the problem Minhyuk is bringing to Hyungwon’s attention, he realizes. He knows there’s nothing wrong with being competitive, but he also knows that Minhyuk is right. He’s taken it too far. Ultimately, skating should be the most important. He shouldn’t be so easily angered and devastated in the face of failure. 

Maybe that’s something he should work on for the upcoming season.

“I don’t want to be like this,” Hyungwon mumbles. He leans his head on Minhyuk’s shoulder.

“I know. You’re just a little lost,” Minhyuk says sweetly. “But I know you’ll find your way back.”

* * *

**_ISU World Figure Skating Championships — Lausanne, Switzerland. March 2016._ **

The conversation with Minhyuk inspires Hyungwon to start paying more attention to the athletes around him when at competitions. Worlds came faster than he’d expected, and soon enough he found himself on a plane to Lausanne, Switzerland for the competition. He lands in Switzerland with a goal: to observe, and to learn. He wants to watch Changkyun. He wants to see how he does it.

What he’s not expecting, though, is that the tide is turned when he beats Changkyun by ten points. The short program had gone well, but Changkyun had taken a couple of hard falls on two jumps in his free skate. He still manages to medal, but the point margin between second and first place is nearly eleven points. 

Standing on the first place podium is nice, and the gold is a wonderful medallion to have, but he focuses on Changkyun. 

And Changkyun is smiling. Hyungwon is sure his hip must hurt like a bitch—he’d fallen right down on his left hip after underrotating his quad flip—and Marcos Saldaña is posing an even bigger threat, with a newly learned quad lutz in his arsenal. It’s not looking good for Changkyun, and yet, he’s grinning. He’s holding his silver medallion, and his smile is just as bright as the medal around his neck. For what feels like the nth competition in a row, they’re asked to stand together and hold the Korean flag, and Hyungwon doesn’t shy away from Changkyun as they’re ushered to stand near each other.

“Congratulations on your gold,” Changkyun says, as Hyungwon expected him to.

“Thank you. Congratulations on your silver,” Hyungwon says, surprising even himself.

Changkyun looks at him in shock. Hyungwon smiles genuinely at him. Changkyun pauses, as if waiting for a punchline that won’t come, but when he sees that Hyungwon is dead serious, he grins again, and it’s a smile that could outshine the heavy fluorescent lights above them.

“Thank you!” he says cheerily.

He decides to ask him for his phone number. After a few more visits to the coffee shop where Jooheon works, Hyungwon has come to the conclusion that Changkyun is part of the same friend circle Minhyuk is part of, and Hyungwon wants to get to know him more if for no other reason than he wants to know Minhyuk’s friends.

(But, he won’t admit to himself just yet, part of him wants to be friends with Changkyun.)

“Can I have your phone number?” he asks bravely.

Again, Changkyun looks at him in surprise. He raises an eyebrow.

“Sure, if you want...” he murmurs suspiciously. “Can I ask why?”

Hyungwon shrugs. “If you and I are going to the Olympics, I might as well know you.”

And Changkyun grins again, and Hyungwon can’t stop thinking about the way Changkyun’s fanged smile makes his head spin.

* * *

The end of the World Championships marks the beginning of the off-season. Or, what can be considered the off-season, at least. There aren’t many competitions during the spring and summer months, but the fall brings smaller competitions, such as the Nebelhorn Trophy, the Lombardia Trophy, the Asia Open, and the Autumn Classic. These fall competitions are part of what is known as the Challenger Season, a group of senior-level competitions that, in terms of rank, are below the Grand Prix series.

Hyungwon plans to attend all of these competitions, and to no one’s surprise, so does Changkyun.

His younger rinkmates, Seungkwan and Jongho, don’t participate, which Hyungwon finds a little relieving, but he’s not sure why. He has the whole summer to talk to Changkyun and learn about him, and yet, the only thing he can think about is how blessed he feels that the younger two skaters won’t be competing with them come autumn. 

He’s been so busy working with Jiyong on new programs and a quadruple loop that when, on a warm day towards the end of August, he gets a text from Changkyun asking to meet for coffee, he’s totally caught off guard.

They’ve been texting intermittently since Worlds, mainly to catch up on each other’s training, but never to really hang out. They’ve both been preoccupied with skating, and of course Changkyun is a student on top of all of his training—Hyungwon doesn’t know _how_ he manages that—and frankly, Hyungwon is relieved for the short break this little outing will give him.

After one of his physiotherapy sessions with Hyunwoo, he takes the metro to the address Changkyun had sent him, and it’s only as he’s approaching the building that he realizes it’s the coffee shop where he and Minhyuk had met Jooheon a year and some months ago. Hyungwon remembers that Jooheon knows Changkyun—they’re probably friends, now that Hyungwon thinks about it—and as he pulls the door open to the shop, he braces himself.

Sitting alone by the window towards the far wall is Changkyun, and he’s cradling a cup of what looks like iced coffee. His eyes are far away; he’s somewhere else, and he doesn’t come back to the present until Hyungwon is pulling the chair out across from him.

“Oh! Hi,” he says, fixing Hyungwon with his big eyes and pointy smile. “Sorry, I got lost in thought. It’s good to see you.”

Hyungwon fumbles for a response. 

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he ultimately settles on, and as he sits down, he realizes the words are truthful. He’s not about to admit to himself that he’s missed Changkyun, but… he definitely didn’t _not_ miss him. 

Yeah. Something like that.

Hyungwon looks at the coffee in Changkyun’s hands, and smirks. “What kind of psycho drinks iced coffee?”

Changkyun giggles— _oh, Lord, help him now_ —and looks Hyungwon directly in the eyes as he sips from the iced beverage. “This psycho does.”

Hyungwon smirks, trying not to blush, and across the cafe, he sees Jooheon come out of the back room, tying an apron around his body. Jooheon’s eyes light up when they make eye contact, and he bustles his way over, an expression of surprise splashed across his features.

“Hey!” he calls excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be coming. Changkyun told me he was meeting someone, but I didn’t expect it to be you!”

Hyungwon laughs, because he’s not sure what else to do, and Jooheon takes his order. Jooheon walks away from the table with a knowing look at Changkyun, which leaves Changkyun flustered and Hyungwon confused.

“You’re friends with Minhyuk, right?” Changkyun asks suddenly.

Hyungwon tries not to scoff. “He’s been my best friend since we were seven years old.”

Changkyun smiles. “He talks very highly of you, you know. Had me intimidated before I even met you.”

Hyungwon’s eyebrows fly past his bangs. “I didn’t know you were close to him.”

“My best friend, Kihyun, is Minhyuk’s roommate.”

“Ah. I’ve heard of Kihyun.”

“I’m sure you have,” Changkyun says with a little laugh. “Minhyuk, Jooheon and Kihyun all have the same professor for psychology, just on different days. Sometimes Kihyun makes me sit in on their study sessions when I’m not in class or at the rink. That’s how I met Joo and Minhyuk, and Hoseok, too.”

Hoseok is a name Hyungwon hasn’t heard before. He’s starting to wonder if he’s the only one Minhyuk’s friends haven’t met.

“He’s a music production major, like Jooheon,” Changkyun explains, “but I also have him in a couple of my nutrition classes. His minor is nutrition and fitness, which is my major.”

“Is he an athlete like us?” 

“Um, not exactly. He’s a bodybuilder. So, an athlete, I guess, but not like us. Seriously, though, he’s built like a truck, and I’m a twig.”

“You’re not a twig,” Hyungwon laughs. “You’re the perfect height and weight for a figure skater.”

Changkyun nods, then grins cheekily. “ _You’re_ a twig, though.”

“True that.” Hyungwon laughs again. His heart feels light. “Tell me more about your friends.”

“Hoseok works part time at the physiotherapy clinic across the city,” Changkyun says.

“Oh, he might know my therapist,” Hyungwon says. “His name is Hyunwoo.”

“Yeah, actually! I think he has talked about a mysterious Hyunwoo,” Changkyun says thoughtfully. “He graduated last year, I think. Sometimes Hoseok likes to work out with him, but I haven’t met him yet.”

This friend circle is more connected than Hyungwon thought. 

“Hyunwoo certainly is a gym rat,” Hyungwon mumbles into his coffee. “He’s built like a brick wall.”

Changkyun laughs brightly. 

“Tell me more,” Hyungwon says. 

“There’s not a lot more to tell,” Changkyun says. “Kihyun is a culinary arts major. He can cook like a god. He—”

“Tell me about you,” Hyungwon interrupts. He’s genuinely interested. (Or maybe he just likes listening to Changkyun’s voice.)

Changkyun’s cheeks darken a little. _Cute._

“What do you want to know?” Changkyun asks. “I’m not super interesting..”

“Birthday,” Hyungwon suggests. 

“January twenty-six, nineteen ninety-eight."

"I'm January fifteen," Hyungwon says, laughing a little at the coincidence.

Changkyun smiles. "What else?"

“Where you grew up. How you ended up in the States.”

"Well, my dad is a scientist,” Changkyun begins. “I was born in Gwangju. I was about six, I think, when we moved to America for his work. I moved back here by myself when Heechul recruited me to skate for Korea.”

“Recruited you, huh?” Hyungwon repeats, a little impressed.

Changkyun nods, cheeks reddening further. “I wasn’t quite sixteen when I moved back.”

“And your parents are still in America?”

“With my brother, yeah.”

“Did they see you compete in Colorado?”

“They did!” Changkyun says, brightening considerably. “It was the first senior competition they’ve gotten to see in person. They don’t like traveling much to see me, so they mainly watch on television.”

Hyungwon nods and hums, because his parents are the same way.

“So, how is training coming?” Changkyun asks, leaning towards Hyungwon with his elbows on the table. “Any new jumps?”

“A quad loop,” Hyungwon says casually.

Changkyun gives him an impressed look.

“You know. Another quad to beat you with,” Hyungwon adds, feeling his heart start beating faster.

Changkyun giggles again. It’s melodic, Hyungwon thinks to himself. 

“I’ll see you in Barrie, right?” Hyungwon asks.

“For the Autumn Classic?”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely. I’ll be in Oberstdorf for Nebelhorn, too. You can bet on it.”

Hyungwon smiles. He’d known, of course, that he and Changkyun would be competing against each other during the challenger series, but he’d wanted to hear Changkyun say it. All of these competitions will be the perfect preparation for Nationals in January of next year, which will decide who will represent Korea in the World Championships. Worlds, in turn, will decide who will represent Korea in the Olympics.

The upcoming season is going to be serious. Hyungwon already knows what he should expect; Jiyong has been grilling him a lot as of recently. The 2017 season will determine who will be going to the Olympics in 2018, and Hyungwon knows he has to pull out all the stops if he wants to be considered for Korea’s Olympic figure skating team.

He knows that Changkyun also knows that. Changkyun wants to go to the Olympics just as badly as Hyungwon does. He can see it in the way Changkyun competes; he claims he competes for fun, he competes because he loves it—but there’s genuine passion for victory there as well, and that’s what Hyungwon likes to see.

After Jooheon brings his coffee, Hyungwon asks Changkyun about what he’d meant during their conversation in Colorado a few months ago. 

Taking another sip from his coffee, Changkyun shrugs. “Sport is sport. Life is life. I’ll agree with you—on the ice, there’s too much passion, too much emotion to even think about things like friendship. But the minute I step off the ice, they’re not my competitors—they’re my brothers. It’s okay for them to be both.”

And Hyungwon ponders this deeply after they part ways. The sun is setting as he heads towards the metro station, and his mind is whirling. He makes a note to himself to start talking to Changkyun even more. The kid’s not so bad. In fact, he’s found that he likes Changkyun’s company, main rival or not. 

He’s also come to realize that winning _is_ important to Changkyun—after all, who doesn’t like winning? But, Hyungwon thinks, maybe it’s okay to let yourself live. He hadn’t been totally friendless, growing up—he’s always had Minhyuk—but he does know that things like friends had been very much secondary to him in comparison to things such as skating. Maybe it’s time for a change.

Next month, they battle for gold at the Autumn Classic, and after an incredibly close race, Changkyun comes out victorious. Hyungwon, in turn, wins Nebelhorn and Lombardia, but in the Asia Open, exactly one week before the start of the Grand Prix series, Changkyun beats him by five points, and for once, the silver around Hyungwon’s neck isn’t heavy with the weight of loss. 

He gives Changkyun a hug, even, as they stand together on the podium. He’s proud of Changkyun. 

(He totally does not relish in the way the smaller man feels pressed against his body, wrapped in his arms. He definitely does not do that. Not at all.)

He’s always liked the way gold looks on him, but he has to admit, Changkyun rocks it, too.

* * *

**_South Korean Figure Skating Championships — Gangneun, South Korea. January 2017._ **

The first week of January brings Nationals, and while Hyungwon generally views Nationals as an easy win, this time it’s more than that. In exactly one year from now, the Olympics will be held, and Hyungwon has to use this season to prove to the Korean government and skating union that he’s someone they want on their figure skating team. The competition is going to be tough this time: not only is he competing against Changkyun, but also Jongho and Seungkwan, who have proven to be fierce competitors in their own right. 

This year Nationals are being hosted in Uijeongbu, which means Minhyuk won’t be able to come and watch. Hyungwon had been disappointed, but quickly remembered that the World Championships this year will be held in Seoul. Minhyuk had accompanied Hyungwon to the train station that will take him to Uijeongbu, and they’d parted under the promise that Minhyuk would purchase tickets to see him compete in Seoul in a few months' time.

Uijeongbu is only about forty-five minutes from Seoul via train, and he tries his best to sit still during the short ride, but he’s found that even trying to sleep is futile against the nervousness. The results of Nationals will be part of the selection criteria for the upcoming World Championships, which will determine who goes to the Olympics in the following year. His leg bounces the entire trip.

He meets Jiyong at the hotel where they’ll be staying, and after they get their room keys from the front desk, Hyungwon follows Jiyong towards the elevator.

“Just so you know, I’m pretty sure Heechul and his skaters are staying in this hotel, too,” Jiyong mentions offhandedly as the elevator doors slide shut. 

“All of them?”

“I think so. He’s got quite a few athletes competing this time.”

“Like who?”

“Well, Changkyun, obviously, and Jongho and Seungkwan. He’s also got a girl competing, too. Kim Yoohyeon.”

Hyungwon recognizes her name, but only very vaguely. 

“How old is she?”

“I'm not sure, exactly. Younger than Changkyun, older than Jongho. She won the women's singles event at Nationals last year.”

“Why haven’t I met her, then?” Hyungwon asks, mostly to himself. 

Jiyong gives him a sideways glance. They both know the answer to that question. 

Hyungwon makes it his goal to meet her, and to talk to Changkyun and his rinkmates more. At a domestic competition such as this, there’s no better place to make friends.

* * *

Jiyong is right. Heechul and his athletes are staying in the same hotel, and Hyungwon learns this after he runs into all four of them at the rink the next morning. The actual competition isn’t for another two days, meaning they’ve got some extra time to practice in the domed arena beforehand. He’d gone in extra early to see if he could get the ice to himself, at least for a little while, but Seungkwan, Changkyun, Jongho, and the girl who Hyungwon guesses is Yoohyeon are all already there.

Part of him wants to be disappointed, but most of him is actually rather glad to see them. He’d been hoping to run into them at some point before the competition.

“Hyungwon!”

It’s Changkyun. Hyungwon spots him all the way across the ice, waving frantically at him. Hyungwon grins as he pulls his blade guards off, and steps onto the ice. It’s been resurfaced recently, and it’s all shiny and smooth and white like the moon. It’s wonderful.

“Good to see you,” Hyungwon calls as he glides his way towards the group. “I was hoping I’d catch you here.”

All four of them smile at him in greeting. 

“I don’t think you’ve met Yoohyeon, have you?” Changkyun asks as Hyungwon skids to a stop. Hyungwon shakes his head, and the girl bows politely. Her hair is long and thick, dyed brown with blonde strips, and twisted into French braids that trail down her back. 

“Hi,” she says cheerily. “It’s nice to finally meet you. My girlfriend is a huge fan of yours.”

“I thought Minji-noona was a big fan of _me_ ,” Seungkwan whines, and Yoohyeon laughs.

“She loves all of you,” Yoohyeon giggles.

“Will she be watching you here?” Jongho asks curiously.

“No, actually. It’s finals week for her. But she’ll come to Worlds,” Yoohyeon says.

“Vernon will be at Worlds, too,” Seungkwan says in accordance. He looks at Jongho. “How about Wooyoung?”

“He’ll be here, and at Worlds,” Jongho says, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Aww,” Yoohyeon croons. “That’s so romantic.”

“Shut up,” Jongho pouts, and Yoohyeon laughs at his reddening face.

“I had no idea I’m the only single one here,” Hyungwon says with an awkward little laugh.

Changkyun sheepishly raises his hand. “I’m single, too. At least Kihyun will be coming to Worlds. Is Minhyuk gonna come?”

Hyungwon nods. He’s relieved, at least, that he’s not the only one without a romantic partner. 

Changkyun’s rinkmates are some of the coolest people Hyungwon has ever met. They’re all gay, it seems, and Hyungwon fits right in with them. After standing and talking for another five or so minutes, they do begin to warm up and practice, bouncing ideas and suggestions off each other like ping pong balls. Jongho tells Yoohyeon to do a triple axel, and Hyungwon is floored when she lands it—never mind the fact that a triple axel is rare in ladies’ skating, it’s a gorgeous jump, one that will definitely put her on the podium. They’re all so comfortable with each other, and Hyungwon feels at ease with them, too. 

Hyungwon lands his first ever quadruple loop without the harness in their presence. Changkyun had been recording with the camera on his phone, and all four of the other skaters burst into cheers and applause as Hyungwon landed. It left him feeling strangely emotional. These people barely know him, and he doesn’t have the best reputation, but here they are, acting like they’ve known him for years. 

He watches the video Changkyun took, but rather than watch the loop itself, he listens for the cheers and applause the moment his skate touches the ice. 

Hyungwon used to think that no one is like him, no one could understand him. He felt quite alone, actually, and in turn, let his ego grow. But he’s come to realize, mainly through Changkyun, that these people, these skaters, are just like him. They’ve all willingly tossed themselves through the grinder that is competitive figure skating, all because they want what he wants: Olympic gold. Just like him, they’ve dedicated their lives to this sport, and they’re going to go down fighting for what they want.

He’d grown up telling himself that there’s no one like himself, there’s no better company than his own conscience. It was this mindset that kept him away from other skaters. 

But maybe, he’s realized, just maybe, they’re not so different after all.

* * *

Fueled by the energy and encouragement of Heechul’s skaters, Hyungwon crushes it at Nationals. He breaks his own record and takes gold, and to his glee, Changkyun takes silver. Jongho and Seungkwan shock everyone by tying for third place, and Yoohyeon lands her fabulous triple axel and places first in the ladies’ division.

These results ensure their places in the South Korean team for the World Championship, but Hyungwon feels that the real victory of the night is being added to a group chat with the four of them and a few other, younger Korean skaters he’s never bothered to meet before. The night after the medal ceremony is spent lying awake in his bed in the hotel room until the wee hours of the morning, texting back and forth on this group chat. He kind of can’t believe he’s waited so long to become part of this.

The last day of the competition is the gala, which goes on without a hitch, and Hyungwon meets some of the other athletes in the group chat for the first time in person, and he likes them all well enough too. There’s Jungkook, a boy from Busan with a bunny-like smile, and Chaeyoung, another female skater who can land a triple axel. There’s also Jeongin, who has a mouth full of braces, and at the end of the exhibition skate they all stand as one under the Korean flag. 

* * *

**_ISU World Figure Skating Championships. Seoul, South Korea. March 2017._ **

Hyungwon takes a deep breath as he steps onto the ice, unzipping his jacket. Changkyun flashes him a smile as he skates by, and Hyungwon returns it, handing the jacket to Jiyong.

“Triple axel,” Jiyong instructs, as is customary. Hyungwon nods.

He surveys the other skaters on the ice with him as he does a few quick warm up laps. They’re all in the second group before the free skate. The short program had gone spectacularly; Changkyun is in first with a two point lead over Hyungwon, and Changkyun’s rinkmates, Jongho and Seungkwan, are in third and fourth respectively. Also in the top six is the Spanish man, Marcos Saldaña, and in sixth is a Russian skater who has only just made his senior debut. 

Following the triple axel Jiyong told him to do, he skates back towards his coach, reaching for his water bottle. He hasn’t been this anxious about a competition in a long time, and the expression on Jiyong’s face is knowing as he passes Hyungwon the bottle of ice water.

“Nervous?” Jiyong asks.

Hyungwon nods, a little breathless, sipping from the bottle. Jiyong gives him a wry, understanding smile.

“Go do your biellmann,” Jiyong orders as Hyungwon puts the bottle back into his hand.

“Spin or spiral?”

“Spin first, then come back here, then spiral. Remember, tilt your head back when you grab your foot.”

Hyungwon nods and turns back to the ice. As soon as he turns his head, he catches sight of Changkyun; the black haired boy is skating backwards. He’s moving very fast, obviously prepping for a jump, and out of the corner of his eye, Hyungwon sees Marcos Saldaña, also going backwards, is headed right towards him.

It happens too fast. There’s a shout from one of the coaches, but Changkyun, going backwards, clearly hasn’t seen Marcos at all, and Marcos hasn’t seen Changkyun in time to get out of the way. There’s a horrific _CLANG_ as they slam into each other, blades first; Changkyun goes tail over teakettle onto the ice and Marcos lands hard on his side.

From the crowd erupts a chorus of screams, cries, gasps and Hyungwon’s hand flies to his mouth. Marcos manages to sit up, but Changkyun is lying flat on his back, his hand at his left ankle, and he’s turned away from Hyungwon. There’s a long moment of silence. Hyungwon pushes off the wall in Changkyun’s direction before he knows what he’s doing.

He’s yanked back by a firm grip on his arm. When he turns around, Jiyong is holding onto his wrist tightly. Hyungwon opens his mouth, but Jiyong shakes his head. His expression is grim. 

Tethered to Jiyong, all Hyungwon can do is watch helplessly as the medical staff trickle onto the ice. Seungkwan and Jongho are hovering as well, and it becomes clear that Changkyun’s injury is quite serious indeed when the announcer comes on the loudspeaker and requests that all athletes get off the ice to make way for a stretcher. Watching the scene play out from the rink barrier, Hyungwon is almost nauseous, and his heart sinks to his feet with every tense moment.

Once the stretcher carrying Changkyun is taken off the ice, the ice resurfacer is brought back out, and Hyungwon watches with his head in his hands as it clears the torn up ice surface.

“The skaters in the second group before the free skate have been granted an extra three minutes to warm up,” the announcer says loudly. His voice echoes around the dome. Hyungwon waits for him to say something regarding Changkyun, or maybe penalize the Spanish skater, who, to Hyungwon’s fury, seems to be totally fine now. But there’s nothing.

He turns to face Jiyong, who is watching him warily. 

“Three minutes, Hyungwon,” Jiyong says slowly, opening the barrier door to the ice. “Show me your biellmann. Remember, tilt your—” 

“—head back,” Hyungwon answers for him. He feels like he’s on autopilot as he steps onto the ice. Nothing is real, now that Changkyun isn’t on the ice with him. Nothing else matters. 

The warm up is over quickly, but Hyungwon still has at least half an hour before he’s supposed to get back on the ice. In between each skater’s turn for the free skate, Hyungwon listens intently for news of Changkyun. He worries he won’t get any news at all, but after Marcos Saldaña gets off the ice, Jiyong steps into the warm up room, and his expression is troubled.

“What is it?” Hyungwon demands. “Is Changkyun gonna compete? He has to!”

Jiyong gives him an even stare. “He won’t be competing tonight, Hyungwon. Heechul withdrew him. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Is it bad?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m hearing that his ankle is broken.”

Hyungwon’s ears start to ring.

His ankle is _broken_? That can’t be right. This _can’t_ be happening. Changkyun has to go to the Olympics with Hyungwon. He _has_ to. _He has to._

Jiyong is saying something, but Hyungwon isn’t listening. 

“Where is he?” Hyungwon interrupts.

“His friends, I believe, have taken him to the hospital.”

“Can I call him? Where’s my phone?”

“Hyungwon, no.” Jiyong says sternly. “Not before you compete.”

“But—Changkyun is—”

“I know, and I’m very sorry it happened. But now is the time to focus on yourself.”

“All I’ve done my whole life is focus on myself!” Hyungwon cries, pulling his arm out of Jiyong’s grip. “Changkyun is hurt—if his ankle is broken, if he can’t compete—there’s no chance he’ll make the Olympic team!”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jiyong asks, exasperated. He sounds confused and frustrated. “For years, all you’ve wanted was to compete at the Olympics! This is your chance to make the team, now that Changkyun is injured. He’s your biggest competition!”

“Going to the Olympics with him is my biggest dream,” Hyungwon wails, sitting down heavily on the bench next to his bag. “It’s always been him, Jiyong. He’s all I’ve wanted.”

He buries his hands into his hair, resting his elbows on his knees. He feels on the verge of a breakdown. 

“Hyungwon, I don’t understand,” Jiyong says, crouching in front of Hyungwon. “What is it you want?”

“I don’t know,” Hyungwon manages. “I want him. I don’t know.”

Jiyong sighs. 

“Who’s left to compete?” Hyungwon asks after a silent minute.

Jiyong looks back at Hyungwon. “Seungkwan is about thirty seconds into his free skate, by the sounds of it. You’ve got two minutes to pull yourself together, Hyungwon. I know this sucks, but I need you to get back into a competitive mindset. You’re here to win. You’re here to make the team.”

 _You’re here to make the team._ He’s first after the short program. He’s got a few quads lined up. This is all he’s ever wanted.

So why does it feel so meaningless now?

* * *

Hyungwon throws himself into his free skate with everything he has and then some. He wants Changkyun to watch him and see that if Changkyun can’t go to the Olympics, then Hyungwon will go for both of them. At the last minute, he changes his opening triple loop into a quadruple loop, and he lands it like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He pretends like it’s the last performance he’ll ever give the world, and he’s not just skating to make the Olympic team—he’s skating for Changkyun. He’s skating to prove to Changkyun that he loves him.

In third place is Seungkwan. 

Second place is Marcos Saldaña.

Hyungwon tries to not let this make him angry.

He tries to not let it anger him, because he’s the one with the gold medal. He’s the one standing on the first place podium. It’s his national anthem that is playing overhead. It’s his free skate performance that secured a victory.

But without Changkyun on the podium with him, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

* * *

Hoseok is kind of hoping that Changkyun might fall asleep by the time the medal ceremony is televised. He’s cruising on the high of a couple of different pain medications, and Hoseok is sure the shock of what has happened tonight is still setting in. He hopes that’s enough to knock Changkyun out.

But it isn’t. He’d forced himself to stay awake to watch Hyungwon’s performance, and Hoseok has to admit, he’s impressed: he’s impressed with Hyungwon’s free skate, and he’s impressed by Changkyun’s determination to stay awake long enough to watch.

Hoseok is dismayed, though, that by the time the medal ceremony happens, Changkyun is still awake. Kihyun reaches for the hospital room television remote, but Changkyun stops him.

“Let me watch him,” Changkyun says, and Kihyun backs away.

Hyungwon mouths the lyrics to the Korean national anthem as he’s prone to doing, but there isn’t even a little bit of happiness in his expression. 

Kihyun turns the television off after the medal ceremony, and Changkyun doesn’t stop him. He’s lying down in his hospital bed with his foot in a splint, and he’s barely spoken since arriving in the hospital. Heechul had needed to stay in the arena with Seungkwan, Jongho and Yoohyeon, but as far as Hoseok is concerned, he’ll come straight to the hospital as soon as he can.

An hour of silence passes. Hoseok talks mainly to Kihyun and Jooheon, because Changkyun is not in the mood for conversation, and Hoseok doesn’t blame him. He wishes there was something he could do. 

All of them look up when Changkyun’s phone, face up on the desk, begins to vibrate. The screen lights up with an incoming call.

“Who is it?” Changkyun asks, hoping it might be one or both of his parents.

Hoseok leans over to read the screen. His eyebrows furrow. “It’s Hyungwon.”

Jooheon snaps his head around to stare at Changkyun in surprise. “Since when do you have Hyungwon’s number?”

“Don’t answer it,” Kihyun says quickly, eyes wide.

“Give me the phone.” Changkyun says, reaching for it.

“Changkyun—”

“I don’t think—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Give me my phone,” Changkyun repeats firmly.

With an apprehensive sigh, Hoseok reaches for the device and hands it to Changkyun, who takes it with a shaking hand. 

“Put it on speaker,” Jooheon mouths.

Changkyun taps the screen and then holds the phone horizontally so everyone can hear.

“Hy-Hyungwon-ssi,” he says, trying to smile and sound cheerful even as his voice shakes with oncoming tears. “Congratulations o-on your gold.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

_“Is your ankle broken?”_

Changkyun’s smile slips. It’s so like Hyungwon to be so straightforward and blunt. Kihyun shares a glance with Hoseok.

Changkyun gives a watery laugh. “You’ve al-always been bad at accepting c-compliments, Hyungwon-ssi.”

In typical Hyungwon fashion, the older athlete doesn’t humor Changkyun’s attempt to change the subject. 

_“Is it broken, Changkyun?”_

Changkyun swallows. His bottom lip quivers. He closes his eyes and presses the heel of his palm to the skin between his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispers disconnectedly. “It’s broken.”

There’s another long pause. 

_“I’m sorry, Changkyun-ah.”_

He sounds truly sorry. Changkyun nods, swallowing, even though Hyungwon can’t see him.

“It-it’s okay,” Changkyun says. Of all the lies he’s ever told, this one has to be the most obvious. “You qualified, didn’t you? That—that’s great. I’m happy for you.”

 _“You don’t have to pretend that you’re okay,”_ Hyungwon says sagely. _“I know you’re not.”_

Changkyun’s expression crumbles, and he hangs up before breaking into a fit of sobs that wrack his entire body. Kihyun is quick to take the phone from him and gather him into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Changkyun,” he whispers, holding Changkyun close. 

It seems the brief phone call with Hyungwon has finally pushed him over the edge. Hoseok is surprised that Changkyun has held himself together for so long. He hadn’t realized how deep Changkyun’s grief is. But Changkyun is truly grieving—Hoseok can see it now, now that he’s breaking down in Kihyun’s arms and Kihyun is holding onto him as if letting go will allow him to fall to irreparable pieces. 

“This meant everything to me!” Changkyun wails. Tears spring to Hoseok’s eyes before he can stop them. 

“I know, Kyun-ah. I’m so, so sorry.”

* * *

Hyungwon drops his phone onto his bed and grabs at his hair, swallowing tears. There’s a click behind him, and he turns to face Jiyong, standing on the threshold of the hotel room. He’s leaning against the doorway, arms folded, and his expression is sympathetic.

“Is it broken?” Jiyong asks.

Hyungwon swallows again and nods. Jiyong shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“There—there has to be something we can do. Something that can be done. There has to be,” Hyungwon pleads. “Assuming he rests and stuff between now and the Olympics, his ankle will be totally healed by the time the games start. Why—why—”

“Hyungwon,” Jiyong says quietly, “you know the rules. If he doesn’t qualify during Worlds, he doesn’t go to the Olympics.”

“Even if he’ll be perfectly fine by this time next year?” Hyungwon whispers. “Korea has been watching him skate against me for _years_ —not taking him to Vancouver is a huge mistake! Can’t they make an exception?”

Jiyong shakes his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that, Hyungwon. I’m sorry.”

“What if he competes in Nebelhorn? He can qualify then—”

“Each country can only send three skaters per discipline, Hyungwon, and Korea already has its three men’s singles’ skaters. You, Seungkwan and Jongho. There’s no room for him on the team, and there won’t be unless any of the three of you leave the team, and you and I both know that’s even less likely.” Jiyong explains. 

He sounds like he’s pitying someone. Hyungwon can’t tell if he pities Changkyun or him. 

* * *

Because Worlds had been held in Seoul, the train ride back home hadn’t taken very long at all, but he’s antsy and shaky the whole way back, still in disbelief and denial. He wishes he could turn back time; he wishes he could erase the 2017 World Championships and start over. 

He’s so angry, too. He’s so angry. He’s angry that the Spanish skater has taken this from Changkyun—in this stupid, avoidable accident, whether intentional or not, Marcos Saldaña has stolen this from him. Dashed it in a heartbeat. In one single moment, Changkyun’s ankle had broken, and everything he had worked for had been yanked out of his reach.

Hyungwon is going to crush Marcos Saldaña in the Olympics if it’s the last thing he ever does.

His first order of business upon returning home is visiting Changkyun. Once at home, he leaves his suitcases, carrying his skates and the stupid gold medal, in the foyer of his apartment, and drops down onto his bed to plug his phone in. Once it’s regained some charge, he opens his messaging app.

_**H.One:** Minhyuk, do you know Changkyun’s apartment address? _

He waits a moment for a response, and it strikes him then that Minhyuk is probably also on his way home. As he waits for Minhyuk’s reply, he begrudgingly drags his suitcases into his room and begins putting his stuff away. He doesn’t spare the gold medal a glance as he hangs it on the medal rack above his desk, and ignores the clinking of the medallions as they clack against each other. He listens intently for his ringtone as he puts away his clothing, and once he hears the text tone, he snatches his phone off the bed in an instant.

_**Minpuppy:** I don’t, but I can ask Kihyun. _

_**Minpuppy:** Congratulations, Hyungwon. I know this probably doesn’t feel like a victory, but I’m proud of you. _

Suddenly there’s tears in Hyungwon’s eyes. He puts his phone down for a second to collect himself.

_**H.One:** Thank you _

_**Minpuppy:** Do you wanna get together and celebrate? I’m happy to treat you to dinner. _

Hyungwon considers it. He doesn’t feel like celebrating anything, and he’s about to tell Minhyuk exactly that, but then another message comes in.

_**Minpuppy:** I don’t want you to feel discouraged because Changkyun didn’t make the team with you. I know you do, and I know this hurts, I know you’re both hurt—but this is a huge deal, Hyungwon, and you’ve been chasing this for years. This is all you’ve wanted since I met you. _

_**Minpuppy:** So, let’s celebrate! We can do anything you want. My treat. _

Hyungwon ponders for a moment, then decides.

_**H.One:** I want to meet your friends _

_**H.One:** Maybe we can all get lunch together? This weekend? _

_**H.One:** Changkyun included. _

_**Minpuppy:** I’ll absolutely make that happen. I’m proud of you, Hyungwon. Don’t forget that. _

Hyungwon smiles.

_**H.One:** I won’t. Can you ask Kihyun for Changkyun’s address, though? I want to talk to him. _

_**Minpuppy:** Sure. _

Half an hour later, as Hyungwon is brushing his teeth, another message from Minhyuk comes in.

_**Minpuppy:** Here’s his address. He should be home already, according to Kihyun. I’m the best friend ever xoxo kissy face emoji _

Hyungwon grins at his phone screen, thanks Minhyuk, and bids him goodnight. He puts the address into his map app, and once he’s determined how far away Changkyun is, he goes to bed. 

* * *

Changkyun’s expression is shocked when he opens his apartment door to see Hyungwon right there. Hyungwon gives him a gentle smile.

“What are you doing here?” Changkyun asks, aghast.

“I wanted to see you,” Hyungwon says. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

Changkyun ushers him inside, and Hyungwon notices immediately that there’s a heavy-looking boot on his foot. 

“It’s temporary,” Changkyun mentions when he catches Hyungwon looking. “They’ll put a cast on this Thursday.”

Hyungwon winces. “Does it hurt?”

Changkyun shakes his head, and Hyungwon can tell it’s a lie.

“You should sit down,” Hyungwon says, taking his shoes off. “Don’t hurt yourself further.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Changkyun asks, even as he’s literally using the back of the sofa to hold himself up. “Did you… need something, or..?”

“Please sit down,” Hyungwon begs.

With a sigh, Changkyun maneuvers himself around the sofa and plops down, though he carefully holds his leg up as he drops onto the cushion. He looks at Hyungwon expectantly.

“I just want to say I’m sorry, Changkyun,” Hyungwon says earnestly. 

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but…” Hyungwon trails off. His fist clenches at his side. “This just… _sucks_. This sucks so badly. I hate that this has happened like this.”

“Why are you so upset, Hyungwon? You made the team,” Changkyun says hoarsely.

“Because it wasn’t supposed to go like this!” Hyungwon cries, finally at his wit’s end. “It was _supposed_ to be you and me—you and me against the world—you and me against _each other_ —and may the best skater win. _That’s_ how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be you, Changkyun. It’s always been you.”

“What’s always been me? Hyungwon, I don’t understand,” Changkyun shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“I love you, Changkyun, don’t you see?” Hyungwon bursts. “I’ve always loved you. _It’s always been you._ ”

Changkyun stares at him. Hyungwon can’t read his expression. He’s sure Changkyun did not wake up this morning expecting Hyungwon to come to his apartment and confess his love for him. 

Hyungwon didn’t even realize the words were true until he said them. He does love Changkyun. He loves him a lot.

Changkyun seems to be fumbling for something to say. Hyungwon’s heart begins to sink to his stomach. _What have I done?_

Hyungwon opens his mouth to say something—though, what he would have said, he doesn’t know—but then Changkyun is on his feet. Using different objects in his room as crutches, he limps towards Hyungwon and before Hyungwon can even blink, Changkyun takes him by the face and kisses him firmly on the lips.

Changkyun’s hands are warm on Hyungwon’s cheeks. He kisses back, and with every second that goes by, his heart lightens.

When they break apart, Changkyun leans his head on Hyungwon’s shoulder, his nose tucked into the crook of Hyungwon’s neck. He’s still standing solely on one foot; Hyungwon snakes one arm around Changkyun’s waist to help hold him up.

“When you go to Vancouver,” Changkyun begins at last, speaking slowly, “you’re going to skate your heart out, and you’re going to come home with that gold medal. And you’re gonna do it even though I won’t be there with you.”

“You deserve to be there with me,” Hyungwon whispers. “There’s nothing you deserve more than to be in Vancouver with me.”

Changkyun looks up at him with a sad smile, and runs his thumb over Hyungwon’s sharp cheekbone.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Changkyun says. Hyungwon doesn’t know how he can possibly believe that.

“Yes, it was,” Hyungwon says firmly. He won’t accept any other answer. The Spanish skater has stolen this from Changkyun—whether or not it was on purpose is debatable, but it’s horribly unfair that after such a collision, the Spanish man will advance to the Olympics, and Changkyun will not.

“There’s nothing we can do about it now. It hurts, but I’m coping. I want you to focus on you.”

“I’ll only be thinking about you.”

“But this is your time to shine, Hyungwon,” Changkyun says earnestly, looking at him deeply in the eyes. “We can’t change anything about how Worlds happened. You made the team, Hyungwon. _That’s_ what we should be celebrating. You’re going to go to Vancouver! You will have your moment where the _whole world_ is watching you. I want you to enjoy that moment. I want it to be the best moment of your life!”

He’s right, Hyungwon decides. He’ll need more time to grieve—hell, they both will—but ultimately, Changkyun is right. He’s been pursuing this his whole life. He’s going to make every tear shed, every drop of blood bled, everything—he’s going to make it worth it. 

They don’t exchange many words after that. They stand in silence, basking in each other’s presence, and that’s enough for Hyungwon.

* * *

The next time Hyungwon sees Changkyun, it’s at the restaurant Minhyuk has decided they’ll meet to celebrate Hyungwon’s victory. Hyungwon arrives with Minhyuk to find that Changkyun, Jooheon, and two strangers are already there, as is Hyunwoo, who Hyungwon is both not surprised and surprised to see.

And Changkyun is in crutches. His foot is encased in a dark purple cast. The sight stings something truly bitter.

But he’s smiling. As soon as he makes eye contact with Hyungwon, he grins that stupid fanged grin Hyungwon loves so much, and Hyungwon feels a rush of affection for him. They don’t call him “Korea’s Sunshine” for nothing, after all.

Changkyun introduces his companions—the smaller one with hair the color of peach candy is the famous Kihyun, and the other one is Hoseok, who, Hyungwon has to admit, is actually built like the Hulk. He greets Hyungwon with a giant smile, though, so Hyungwon he isn’t nearly as scary as he looks.

Besides, they’re Changkyun’s friends. How scary could they be?

He learns Kihyun and Changkyun have been friends since Changkyun moved back to Korea, and he quickly realizes that Kihyun is particularly protective of Changkyun—but Hyungwon doesn’t blame him. He’s protective of Changkyun as well.

He knows Kihyun is protective by the way he carefully maneuvers the conversation so it doesn’t end up being about the World Championships or the upcoming Olympics. Hyungwon isn’t blind to Kihyun’s methods, and he’s actually a little impressed, and more than grateful. He doesn’t want to discuss skating right now, either.

Despite Kihyun's efforts, though, at some point the conversation takes a turn, and a comment made by Minhyuk about Marcos Saldaña has Hyungwon’s blood boiling again.

“Did they determine that it was an accident?” Jooheon asks, and it seems as though he’s been dying to ask this question since they got there. 

“That’s what they said it was,” Changkyun says with a little sigh. “He kept denying that it was on purpose in the press conference.”

“I don’t buy it.” Hyungwon says bitterly.

Kihyun looks at him sharply. There’s warning laced in his gaze, sharp like a knife. “Why would Saldaña hit him on purpose?”

“Not every athlete is a good sport,” Hyungwon says. “And Changkyun has been crushing Saldaña in competition since he made his senior debut.”

“At the very least, there should have been a penalty,” Minhyuk adds. “He was going fast enough to _break_ Changkyun’s _ankle_ , which is scary enough on its own, and if you ask me, if he’d have been paying attention he’d have had enough time to get out of the way.”

Hyungwon nods in agreement.

"But Saldaña didn't come away from the crash uninjured," Kihyun protests. "What did he say his injuries were?"

"He sprained his wrist from catching himself on the ice, and I think the judges concluded that if he had fallen at even a slightly different angle he could have broken his ribs," Hoseok reminds him. "And there's no way he'd compete with broken ribs."

Kihyun nods triumphantly and looks at Hyungwon boldly in the eyes. "That's right. So answer me this: why would he risk injuring himself just to take Changkyun out of the race?"

"Kihyun has a point," Hyunwoo says, speaking up for the first time in twenty minutes. "Why would he jeopardize himself?"

"I don't know. All I'm saying is Changkyun has repeatedly been in his way of the podium," Hyungwon says.

"If that's the case, why wouldn't he go for you?" Kihyun asks brazenly. "I mean, you're just as much of a threat as Changkyun is, if you ask anyone with eyes. And you've been competing against Saldaña longer than Changkyun has. Why wouldn't _you_ be his target?"

It's a valid question, and not one Hyungwon has stopped to consider before. He pauses, contemplating.

"I don't know," he says at last. And he doesn't know.

“Why are you so hung up on it, Hyungwon?” Changkyun asks. He doesn’t sound angry or accusing, but he does sound tired, and Hyungwon realizes that Changkyun is probably tired of thinking and talking about this. 

“Because it isn’t fair that he gets to go to the Olympics and you don’t,” Hyungwon says simply. He’ll say it until he dies. “He was at fault. He should have been watching out.”

Changkyun chooses not to answer, sipping from his drink instead. His lack of a response, Hyungwon thinks, proves that he agrees with him, but, for whatever reason, doesn’t wish to voice it out loud.

“We could bash his knee in with a crowbar,” Jooheon says suddenly.

Everyone turns to look at Jooheon in surprise. His cheeks and the tips of his ears redden slightly.

“Is that too nineties?” he asks with a shy smile.

Changkyun laughs out loud. It’s not the first time Hyungwon has heard him laugh, but this is a true, full laugh—it echoes around the restaurant, fills it from corner to corner, bounces gleefully off the walls. It’s music to Hyungwon’s ears.

“Let’s not do anything that will get either of us banned from skating for life,” Changkyun giggles. “I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Minhyuk, Hyungwon and Kihyun join him in his laughter, and Jooheon grins like an idiot, but Hoseok is looking between them as if they’ve both grown second heads.

“What are you talking about?” Hoseok asks, aghast. Hyunwoo looks just as perplexed.

“Does the name Tonya Harding mean anything to you?” Minhyuk asks, also smiling.

Hoseok and Hyunwoo shake their heads.

“Nancy Kerrigan? Lillehammer? Nineteen-ninety-four?”

They still look clueless. Hyungwon can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter.

The luncheon is definitely something he needed, he decides. Laughing with his friends is an excellent medicine; he walks away from the restaurant feeling lighter than air itself, even though he knows he has a long few months of preparation ahead of him.

* * *

**_Winter Olympic Games. Vancouver, Canada. February 2018._ **

Hyungwon has the world eating out of the palm of his hand. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him and him alone. Sweat trickles down his spine. His heart is racing.

He’s the last skater to perform in the free skate, being first after the short program. He fidgets with his gloves, and behind him, on the other side of the barrier, Jiyong places his hands on his shoulders. Hyungwon lets himself be grounded by the weight of Jiyong’s hands on his shoulders.

“Deep breath,” Jiyong orders.

Hyungwon inhales, holds it for four seconds, and exhales. All he can hear are the cheers and screams of the people in the audience, but he’s trying his best not to look at them. Somewhere in the crowd, Changkyun is sitting with their friends, and he knows that if he looks at the audience, he’ll try to find Changkyun’s face.

“Representing the Republic of South Korea, please welcome Chae Hyungwon!”

Hyungwon turns around and grips Jiyong’s hand tightly. Jiyong gives him a deep stare, and a small smile.

"I'm scared," Hyungwon admits.

"I know. It's okay," Jiyong says.

Jiyong shakes Hyungwon's hand firmly.

“One element at a time,” he says.

“One element at a time.” Hyungwon repeats.

Jiyong shakes his hand. Hyungwon pushes off the wall, spreads his arms. He takes another deep breath as the cheers fade, and the air in the Olympic arena is heavy with anxiety, excitement, apprehension.

The music begins. He allows it to take him away; he allows himself to get lost in the piano and violin. He pretends he’s at home, performing for no one, performing for himself.

He’s not performing for himself, though. He’s performing for no one other than Changkyun.

His first jump is his quadruple loop. He pumps his fist as he lands it solidly, relieved now that the hardest jump is out of the way. His next two jumps are also quads, but he lands them both cleanly as well, and only then can he truly relax. Only then can he let his body do what it knows how to do.

He lands his triple axel-double toe. Four jumps down. The music slows, becomes softer, and with it, so do his movements. He extends fully through his feet, stretches his arms and waves as though he’s flying.

He is flying, he thinks, as he nails his fifth jump, a triple lutz-triple toe. Only two more.

The music speeds up. His heartbeat speeds up too. Another triple axel—one more jump to go. He can’t hear anything except the music and the beating of his own heart in his ears. 

His limbs tingle as he goes for his last jump—a triple loop-triple loop—and his skate touches down on the ice and he spreads his arms with all the confidence in the world and the crowd’s cheers break through the music and the blood pulsing through his ears and he lets it carry him away. His final element, a flying spin sequence—he leaps into it with every ounce of power he can muster and spins and spins and spins and—

And he stops, and his arm is stretched towards the sky. And the crowd is on its feet, and there’s little purple bears flying at him from all directions, and he’s crying—oh, god, he did it—and he sinks to his knees, and he barely feels the cold ice as it soaks through his costume pants.

He sobs into his hands—it’s like a dam has been broken and now there’s no stopping him—and his ears are ringing from the adrenaline, from the screaming, from the pure bliss coursing through his body. He feels electric, like he could run a mile, and he knows his face is a mess as he stands back up, but he doesn’t care because he did it.

Jiyong is crying when Hyungwon meets him at the barrier, and he pulls Hyungwon into a hug—the first he’s ever received from the coach—and there aren’t any words exchanged between them as they await the score, the score that will decide everything.

“Chae Hyungwon has earned, in the free skate…”

The world holds its breath.

“...two hundred and ten point nine seven points…”

And Hyungwon might as well have gone deaf. The rest of the announcer’s words are lost in the chaos that becomes the arena, and Hyungwon can barely see through his tears what his final score is:

321.45. 

He will go down in history as an Olympian who has broken three Olympic records, and in that moment, all he can think about is Changkyun. Changkyun, Changkyun— _did he see me? Did he watch? Is he proud?_

Of course Hyungwon knows the answer to all those questions is yes, but reality hasn’t quite caught up with him yet and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

He kisses the gold medal around his neck, holds his flag, and sings along to his national anthem during the medal ceremony, and although most of him just wants to enjoy this moment, this moment where everyone is looking at him, he just wants to see Changkyun.

* * *

It’s another entire day before Hyungwon finally gets to see Changkyun. They meet after the gala. The Olympic gala had gone one about four hours, and Hyungwon is absolutely exhausted, but he’s driven by the knowledge that when he gets to the bar in the hotel, he’ll meet with Changkyun and the rest of their friends.

He’d already celebrated the victory with Seungkwan, the bronze medalist, and the Japanese skater, Nakamoto Yuta, who had won silver. They stood together on the podiums, skated together during the gala, and Hyungwon had met many, many new skaters and made some wonderful new friends from all across the globe. The word “congratulations” could only be heard too many times, and by the end of the gala Hyungwon just wanted to have fun, just wanted to be around people. He just wanted to be with his friends.

Of course, the party doesn’t end after the gala. It seems all of the skaters have chosen to gather in the hotel bar, filling the giant room to max capacity, and all around Hyungwon are the athletes he’d just skated with in the gala, dressed in beautiful outfits and dancing and drinking. Dressed in a simple black button down and skinny black pants, he wades through the people, bowing and nodding in greeting to everyone he sees, until he again runs into Seungkwan. The bronze medalist is dressed smartly in a suit, and there’s a taller boy with him.

“Hyungwon!” Seungkwan calls, and drags him over. “This is Vernon, my boyfriend!”

“Nice to meet you,” Vernon grins a giant gummy smile as he and Hyungwon bow politely.

“Are you looking for Changkyun?” Seungkwan asks. He almost has to yell over the music.

“Yeah,” Hyungwon nods. “Have you seen him?”

“He went in that direction with someone who had pink hair,” Seungkwan says, waving in the direction of the bar.

Kihyun, Hyungwon’s mind supplies. 

“Thank you!” he says with a grin, and with another nod at Vernon he ducks back into the crowd and fights his way towards the bar.

All at once, the crowd parts, and when Hyungwon sees him, it’s like the entire world stops turning.

Having gotten his cast removed a few months ago, he’s totally healed and perfectly fine. He stands next to the bar, and the rest of their friends are clumped around him. They’re all dressed to impress, but Changkyun stands out to Hyungwon the most—his hair, beautiful and black as the night, is slicked back, and he’s wearing a ruby red button down and black skinny jeans. Hyungwon recognizes the glitter of silver jewelry in his ears and around his neck.

He doesn’t notice Hyungwon at first, engaged animatedly in conversation with Kihyun. Minhyuk makes eye contact with Hyungwon first, but instead of pouncing on him himself, he taps Changkyun on the shoulder, and when Changkyun looks at him in question, he points at Hyungwon.

Hyungwon barely has time to smile before his arms are full of Changkyun, and it feels like it’s been so long since he’s held Changkyun this way. They’d seen each other only very fleetingly in the months before the Olympics, and now that he’s finally here in his arms, Hyungwon never wants to let go of him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Changkyun interrupts him by crushing their mouths together. He’s vaguely aware of the cheers and cries of shock and laughter that erupt around them, but focuses mainly on the way Changkyun’s lips feel on his own, and kisses back as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“I am so proud of you,” Changkyun whispers, and under the heavy loudness of the music, Hyungwon can barely hear him, but the words are as clear as day when Hyungwon is staring at his lips.

The words, coming from Changkyun, mean more than anything anyone else could say to him. 

There might be an Olympic gold medal tucked into his suitcase back in his hotel room, but tonight, his mind is on Changkyun.

Changkyun, tucked against his body, fitted nicely in the crook of his arm, is a better weight than any gold medal he could ever wear.


	7. Take A Break (JooKyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week before Skate America, Changkyun pushes himself too hard. Jooheon comes to the rescue.
> 
> 3.7k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by CanaryAtLaw. Thank you for being one of my best readers!! Your comments never fail to make my entire day. I hope you enjoy this, lovely!
> 
> Short and sweet JooKyun sickfic.
> 
> Requests are CLOSED until further notice. I have so many to work on.

Jooheon winces as he watches Changkyun fall on his triple lutz and slide on the ice until his back hits the wall. From the rink’s wall, Jiyong watches him carefully, and even from where Jooheon is standing on the second level by the upstairs dance studio’s doors, he can see Changkyun’s face color slightly in embarrassment. Jooheon can already tell Jiyong is preparing to launch into his anti-embarrassment pep talk. 

As Jooheon makes his way down the stairs, workout bag in hand, he watches Changkyun glide towards their coach, dusting ice off his black pants.

“Do you want to go get your hip pads?” Jiyong is asking as Jooheon reaches the bottom of the stairs.

“No,” Changkyun says quickly, shaking his head. His voice is a little hoarse.

Jiyong sighs. “Okay… go do it again.”

As Changkyun pushes off the wall again, Jooheon ducks into the locker room. It’s empty, save for Jungkook, who is tying his skates with a faraway look in his wide eyes. Jooheon smiles fondly; Jungkook is known for zoning out at random times. He doesn’t seem to notice Jooheon until Jooheon is reaching for his own skates, and he gives Jooheon a shy, sheepish smile by way of greeting.

Even from inside the locker room, the telltale sounds of someone falling hard on ice can be heard, and Jooheon and Jungkook both look towards the door, wincing. After a few silent moments, the click-clack of blade guards against the floor approach the locker room, and then the door swings open. Changkyun, covered in ice again, pushes into the locker room. He won’t look at either of them as he reaches for his hip pads, and he’s gone before Jooheon has the chance to think of anything to say.

Across the room, Jungkook gives Jooheon a sideways glance.

“Not a good day?” Jungkook says softly.

Jooheon sighs a little as he laces up his left skate. “Guess not.”

That’s one of the frustrating things about skating: you never know how you’re going to feel. This is especially daunting when it comes to competitions, which require such a specific mindset. Some days, you land all your jumps and your program is flawless and you feel on top of the world. Other days, you’re tired, sluggish, and nothing seems to be working for you. It’s not uncommon, and while it does suck, it doesn’t last forever, even if it feels that way. Off days are normal, however much every skater hates them.

It seems Changkyun is having an off day. What makes it worse is that the kid is way too hard on himself on a good day. Jooheon knows he’ll be in need of some extra attention after practice is over.

Jungkook waits until Jooheon is done lacing his skates, and they join Changkyun on the ice together. Jiyong nods at them as they step onto the ice, but Changkyun, sipping from his water bottle, doesn’t pay either of them any attention.

Jiyong catches Jooheon’s look of concern and waves him over as Jungkook skates away. Changkyun follows him, and Jooheon skids to a stop next to their coach.

“What’s going on today?” Jooheon asks softly, watching Changkyun.

“I don’t know. He told me he's sore, but I don’t think that’s what’s causing his falls,” Jiyong says thoughtfully. “On a normal day he’s able to jump even when he’s tired." 

Jooheon nods slowly in agreement. Changkyun does have good stamina. 

"In any case, his jumps aren't _bad_ today, despite what he might say to you. The lutz was fine, really. He just.. sort of gave up on the landing." Jiyong says, then turns to look at him. “I know you two went to the gym together yesterday morning. Did he seem all right?”

Jooheon nods again. “We didn’t do anything we don’t normally do. I’m a little sore, but I also took an 800 milligram Motrin before I came today. I told him to take medicine too, but I don’t think he listened to me.”

“Maybe he’s getting sick,” Jiyong says.

Jooheon glances at the coach in horror. _Sick?_ Changkyun can’t get sick now. Skate America is taking place a week from today, and Changkyun is leaving for his flight to Los Angeles on Thursday morning. How can he practice before the competition if he’s sick?

He _won't_ be able to practice if he's sick. Even if he claims to be okay, there's no way Jiyong will let him on the ice and risk getting others sick.

Jooheon's attention is grabbed when, across the rink, Changkyun leaps into a triple loop, and just when Jooheon thinks he’s going to stick it, the back of his blade gets caught on the ice, sending him flying backwards onto his hip. The cushions around his waist more or less break his fall, but Changkyun groans loudly in frustration, sitting on the ice.

Jooheon grimaces. Changkyun must really be annoyed at himself today. 

Swearing, groaning or otherwise verbalizing frustration is unacceptable in Jiyong’s rink. It’s why they have a swear jar. Jiyong hates it when his athletes get angry at themselves for not having a good day. "Off days are normal, and they don't last forever," is what Jiyong always says. "You have no excuse to be angry. Just get up and try again."

Jiyong makes eye contact with Jooheon. He looks grim. 

Jooheon shakes his head, looking back at Changkyun as the younger man pulls himself back to his feet. Jooheon is not stupid, and he likes to think he’s very in tune to Changkyun’s feelings and wellbeing. If Changkyun were sick, Jooheon would have noticed by now.

Right?

“Maybe he’s just having an off day,” Jooheon says, but he sort of gets the feeling he’s grasping at straws. “He usually gets nervous before competitions. It’s not unlike him to get kind of shaky.”

Jiyong shrugs slightly. “Changkyun,” he calls.

The boy looks over. His chest is heaving slightly as he fights to catch his breath.

“Go take five,” Jiyong orders. “Jungkook, get your music ready, okay? Joo, you’re after JK. Changkyun will skate after you.”

Technically, Jooheon doesn’t have to get off the ice when someone’s going through their program. Another one of Jiyong’s rules is that when someone’s music is playing, they have the right of way on the ice, so as long as anyone else on the ice stays out of the way, there won’t be issues. But since Jungkook’s free skate this year is a fast, explosive routine that covers most of the ice, Jooheon knows he won’t have much time or room to practice his elements until the younger athlete is done skating. So, as Jungkook takes his beginning pose in the center of the rink, Jooheon follows Changkyun off the ice and towards the locker rooms.

“Changkyun-ah,” he calls, taking off at a light jog to catch up with Changkyun.

Changkyun stops, but doesn’t turn around to face him. Jooheon places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Give yourself a break, please?” Jooheon pleads. “It’s okay, Changkyun. You’re just having an off day.”

“I can’t afford to have an off day right now,” Changkyun bites back. He still won’t look Jooheon in the face.

“It’s normal to be nervous before a competition.”

“How would you know? _You_ never have problems before a competition,” Changkyun snaps, whirling around to face Jooheon.

His words aren't true, and they both know it.

Slightly hurt but mostly concerned, Jooheon takes a small step back and removes his hand from Changkyun's shoulder. “Kkukkungie.”

Changkyun deflates, looking away guiltily and wrapping his arms around his middle. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m not...”

“What’s up, Kyun? You’re not yourself today,” Jooheon murmurs, ducking his head to look at Changkyun in the eyes.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Jooheon softens and cautiously approaches Changkyun, advancing more when the younger doesn’t make any move away from him. He slowly embraces him, but is dismayed to feel him trembling slightly. 

“Are you all right? Are you sick?” He asks lowly, guiding Changkyun behind a corner to hide him a bit from the rest of the rink.

“I don’t know. I feel... weird. Stressed, maybe?” Changkyun replies shakily.

Jooheon wants to believe that Changkyun is just overly-anxious about the upcoming Grand Prix series, but he’s got the sneaking suspicion there’s more to this than that. Nonetheless, he remains quiet, gently rubbing the younger skater’s back. They stay like that for a minute, Jooheon wrapped like a koala around Changkyun behind the safety of the wall. Jungkook’s free skate program echoes in the background, shaking the building slightly. He’s already halfway into his program; he’ll be done soon, and then it'll be Jooheon’s turn to skate, and then Changkyun will be up. 

Jooheon blinks in surprise when Changkyun’s body shudders and he releases a quivering breath, curling tighter into Jooheon’s chest. Jooheon reaches a hand up to reach on the back of his head and he’s dismayed to find his neck and hair sweaty. That’s odd; he hasn’t been working very long today. They’ve only been at the rink for three and a half hours.

“Changkyun-ah,” He murmurs, lowering himself to speak into the other’s ear. “Can you skate?”

“I have to,” He whispers after a moment. 

Jooheon doesn’t miss the hesitation. 

“You can’t practice like this,” He argues back, not able to deny it anymore. Changkyun is clearly in no state to practice. He is drenched in sweat, pale, shaky—he’s unwell, and how he’d managed to hide it from Jooheon until now is beyond him. 

“B-but I…”

Changkyun trails off and Jooheon looks around desperately for someone to help them. Jungkook is still skating his free program, so Jiyong’s full attention is on him, and he can't see Yoongi or Seokjin or even J-hope or Shownu. Jooheon doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he knows Changkyun can’t skate like this—it’s too dangerous.

“Wait here, okay? I’m gonna go find someone to take a look at you,” Jooheon says softly, gently letting go of Changkyun and propping him up against the wall.

He brushes Changkyun’s bangs away and presses a kiss to his forehead, wincing at the heat he feels. Definitely a fever. 

Changkyun suddenly pushes off the wall, and before Jooheon can ask him what the matter is, he hurries away, his blade guards click-clacking against the floor.

“Changkyun!” Jooheon calls, confused. “Hey—where are you _going_?”

He takes off at a run after him, but Changkyun is already quite a bit ahead. Jooheon barely manages to catch up with him as he ducks into the men’s bathroom, and as soon as Jooheon follows him in, Changkyun throws open a stall door and vomits into the toilet. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” Jooheon coos, hurrying to help steady the younger skater. “Oh, it’s okay, Changkyun. Just breathe.”

He holds Changkyun by his shoulders as he gets sick again, too concerned to be grossed out by the sight. Had it been anyone else, Jooheon reckons, he would’ve had to leave the room. But it’s Changkyun, and Jooheon has to know he’s okay before he can do anything else. 

His heart stutters when Changkyun sways, and Jooheon barely manages to grab him before his knees buckle. Changkyun moans, sliding down the side of the stall.

“I’ve got to take you home, puppy,” Jooheon whispers, going to his knees next to Changkyun. “You’re not in any state to practice today.”

“But _you_ need to practice,” Changkyun says weakly. 

Jooheon pauses, trying to find a response; the kid must be delusional. He hopes the fever isn’t melting Changkyun’s brain.

He’d been hoping that Changkyun had just pushed himself too hard. As much as Jooheon hates to admit it, it's not unlike Changkyun to push himself past his limits. Jooheon had been hoping that Changkyun had just stressed himself out, as he tends to before competition season starts. But he can deny it no longer—Changkyun is sick, and he’ll need to stay at home to recover.

This will take him out of practice for at least two days, and Jooheon knows what kind of person Changkyun is. Because he prefers being by himself when something is wrong, Changkyun isn’t an easy person to care for, and Jooheon knows he’ll be upset that he can’t practice a little bit more before Skate America. That will just make things worse.

“I can take off the rest of today and tomorrow to make sure you’re okay,” Jooheon argues gently. “I’m not competing until France. One or two days off won’t kill me.”

He tries to make Changkyun understand with his eyes that this is nonnegotiable—he _has_ to take Changkyun home. 

Jungkook’s music thumps to a stop in the background and clapping and cheering from the other skaters who’d been watching erupts in its wake. Despite the fact that they’re tucked away from the main area of the rink, Changkyun groans and bends over himself, and Jooheon moves to cup his ears. He must have a headache. Changkyun shifts to nuzzle into Jooheon’s neck. 

_He needs help,_ Jooheon shouts at himself. _Go get help!_

Jooheon slings an arm around Changkyun’s shoulder, curling the younger into his body and more or less taking on most of his weight. He stands swiftly and quickly, ignoring Changkyun’s whines of protest with small shushing noises.

“Shh. I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Jooheon mumbles, but Changkyun, growing weaker, stops responding to him. Jooheon bites his lip and starts walking, all too aware of the heat Changkyun carries with him.

He feels like he’s been walking forever when finally the figure he’s looking for comes into view. Jiyong stands a few feet away, his back to Jooheon. Even from behind him, Jooheon can tell the man is pissed based on the way he stands, his hands on his hips and head slightly tilted back.

“Jiyong-hyung!”

Said man jerks around when Jooheon calls him, and annoyance flickers across his face.

“ _There_ you a— _what happened?"_ He then catches sight of Changkyun, and his face falls in surprise. Behind him, Jooheon sees Jungkook glance over, then lets his mouth fall open slightly. Jiyong quickly approaches the two, eyes wide.

“You were right. I think he’s getting sick,” Jooheon hisses, and Jiyong’s expression pinches in concern. “It—I think it’s bad. He threw up.”

“Shit. He can’t skate, then,” He grits out, then softens and places a gentle hand on Changkyun’s shoulder. “Hey, Kyun-ah? Can you hear me?”

Changkyun nods, flushed face still turned towards the ground. 

“Okay. I’m gonna call Kihyun, alright? He’s gonna come get you and take you back to your apartment,” Jiyong says, fishing for his phone in his jacket pocket. “You can’t skate, kiddo, not like this.”

“But I…” Changkyun swallows. “I didn’t finish th-the Grand P-Prix series la-last year, eith-ther.”

At this, Jiyong looked up from his phone, his expression both sad and slightly confused. “Hey, kiddo, you won’t be sick forever. You’ll be back on the ice in a few days or less, right?”

“B-but I—” His shoulders shake and tears start running down his cheeks; he hides his face in Jooheon’s neck.

Jooheon glances back at Jiyong—the coach is really strict about no tears at practice—but Jiyong seems more concerned than anything else, and Jooheon realizes he’s probably never seen Changkyun sick like this before. Changkyun seldom wants to be around others when he’s not well—Jooheon included. It’s the first time Jooheon has seen him like this, too.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Jiyong says softly.

Jooheon is sorry, too. Changkyun doesn’t deserve this, but unlike the previous year, this situation couldn’t be helped. His body has screwed him over, and it‘s not his fault. 

“I want to take him home,” Jooheon says firmly.

Jiyong blinks at him in surprise, and Jooheon can see in his eyes as he formulates an argument, but another quick glance at Changkyun, gripping Jooheon like his life depends on it, silences it. He gives a short nod.

“I’m still going to call Kihyun. I’ll tell him to go with you to Changkyun’s apartment,” Jiyong says. 

“Thanks, Jiyong,” Jooheon says genuinely. “Thank you.”

“Take care of him,” Jiyong says, before putting his phone to his ear and walking away.

* * *

“Jesus, he looks really bad.”

Jooheon glances up. Kihyun is approaching them. Changkyun is slumped against Jooheon as he unties his skates in record time; he isn’t quite conscious anymore. Jooheon had taken the younger’s skates off first, and the beautiful black boots lay haphazardly on the bench next to him.

“Can you put his skates in his locker?” Jooheon asks, a little breathless as he tugs fiercely at his laces. He feels a little bad for being so rough with his skates—they’re ridiculously expensive and he’s been conditioned to treat his skates well—but every time Changkyun shifts or whimpers, Jooheon is reminded of the gravity of the situation. 

“How does he get home?” Kihyun asks, picking up Changkyun’s skates before turning to the youngest’s locker. 

“Metro,” Jooheon says, grunting as he pulls his skate off. 

"Did you drive today?"

"No," Jooheon replies. "I took the train, too."

“I’ll come with you. Hyunwoo can follow us,” Kihyun adds when Jooheon looks at him skeptically. “Jiyong wants me to accompany you both home, make sure you get there okay. Hyunwoo and I will go back to the rink once you’re both safely at Changkyun’s apartment.”

“I’m taking him to my flat,” Jooheon says crisply, trying to make it clear he’s not willing to negotiate. He winces a little; he's not trying to be snappy with Kihyun, but Changkyun's condition is stressing him out, and his main priority right now is getting the younger boy home. He shoves his skates into his locker, closes the door with a bit more force than necessary. 

Kihyun pauses, and Jooheon can see by the look in his eyes he’s weighing his options. Jooheon meets his stare and doesn’t back down.

At last, Kihyun nods. “Put your shoes on, then.”

Kihyun and Hyunwoo take Hyunwoo’s car into the city, while Jooheon and Changkyun take the metro to Jooheon’s apartment. Jooheon hadn’t understood why Hyunwoo and Kihyun were going to drive, when taking the train would be much faster, but Hyunwoo had explained that after helping Jooheon with Changkyun, he and Kihyun needed to run an errand, so taking his car would be more practical, and Jooheon relented. Changkyun is in no state for such a busy, bustling atmosphere, but Jooheon doesn’t live as far away from the rink as he does, so a quick trip on the metro is the most efficient given the state of things.

Jooheon tries to shield Changkyun as best as he can as they get on the train. Hidden under the hood of his sweatshirt and a medical mask, there’s no way anyone will recognize him, and that’s how Jooheon wants to keep it.

Changkyun dozes gently on Jooheon’s shoulder as the train lurches into motion, and that’s how Jooheon becomes acutely aware that Changkyun is warmer than he had been in the rink earlier. Wary of the people around them, he subtly takes Changkyun’s hand. He doesn’t fail to notice the clamminess of his skin, and rubs his thumb over his knuckle, wondering how Changkyun managed to get through the morning.

“Do I need to take you to the hospital?” he asks, even though he already knows what Changkyun will say. 

Changkyun shakes his head, but the movement is small. He mumbles something, but behind the mask, Jooheon can't understand him.

"Come again?"

“I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep,” Changkyun mumbles, a little bit louder.

“You and I can curl up in bed when we get home,” Jooheon says softly. “How does that sound?”

Changkyun hums. 

“You might get sick,” he whispers.

Jooheon smiles small, and tightens his grip on Changkyun’s hand.

It’s a risk Jooheon is willing to take. 

* * *

“He’ll be okay, Joo. His fever is already going down. He probably worked himself too hard too quickly. You know how he gets before competition.”

“I know that. Just wasn’t expecting it, is all,” Jooheon says.

With Hyunwoo and Kihyun’s help, he’d managed to get Changkyun inside and after a quick shower, Changkyun is now sleeping peacefully in Jooheon’s bed with a cold compress on his forehead. In the kitchen, Kihyun is cooking something that smells delicious, and Jooheon and Hyunwoo are in Jooheon’s room, watching Changkyun sleep.

“It’s kind of funny, I guess,” Jooheon murmurs, running his fingers through Changkyun’s soft black hair. “How we have to be so healthy, but we’re just as susceptible to illness as anyone else.”

“Peak athleticism doesn’t necessarily mean peak health,” Hyunwoo says quietly. 

Jooheon knows this, of course. Training for the Olympics is nowhere near as glamorous as the public seems to think it is. It's expensive and painful and really, it's damaging. Taking any sport to the Olympic level is damaging to the body and the mentality of the athlete. The finished product—quadruple jumps, level four spins, shiny and sparkly costumes and beautiful music—is what’s glamorous. But every Olympic skater is an athlete who has cried, bled, and slaved over the sport, all for a single moment where the whole world is watching.

Some skaters, like Hoseok, have already had their moment. Hoseok has a gold medal to show for it. Jooheon knows Changkyun won’t rest until he’s had his.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Hyunwoo asks after a second.

Jooheon smiles.

“More than anything in the world.”

* * *

It’s not the first time Changkyun has spent the night in Jooheon’s apartment, but this occasion feels particularly domestic, and even though Changkyun is sick, Jooheon is enjoying having him here. It’s nearing seven in the evening, and after quickly reheating and eating the meal Kihyun made earlier, he and Changkyun lay on the sofa together, watching the rerun of the Autumn Classic. Neither of them had participated in that particular competition, but Hoseok and Hyungwon had, and even though they’d watched it live, Changkyun had wanted to watch it again. He’d fallen asleep halfway through.

At a commercial break, Jooheon gets up to take their dishes to the kitchen. He leaves Changkyun lying on the sofa, and the setting October sun spills its orange glow across the apartment’s floor. Jooheon hums quietly to himself as he rinses the dishes. He’s feeling a bit more optimistic about Changkyun’s condition. His fever hasn’t returned since he’d taken a shower earlier, he hasn’t been sick again, and while he’s mostly slept the rest of the day, Jooheon is glad he’s getting the rest. 

When Jooheon rejoins Changkyun on the sofa, the younger skater curls up to him, and lies his head on Jooheon’s chest. He’s not quite awake anymore, but Jooheon lets him rest, carding his fingers through his hair to soothe him back into the deep slumber he’d been in earlier.

He knows there will come a time in his life when he won’t be competing anymore. He knows he’ll go into coaching, and that Changkyun will probably follow him, but hopefully that won’t be for another couple of years. Jooheon is not done showing the world who he is and what he can do, and he knows Changkyun’s only desire at this point is to go to the Olympics. 

Neither of them are anywhere near ready to be finished skating. They’re not ready to retire.

But as Jooheon lies on the sofa, Changkyun on top of him, he knows his life won’t be so bad once he does retire. 

He knows he has this to look forward to: sleepy nights on the sofa in front of the television, tables for two in romantic restaurants, holding hands through early morning walks. 

Jooheon has two great loves in life: figure skating, and Changkyun. As long as he has both, he’ll never need anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know, hip pads aren't uncommon for skaters to have. They're kind of like shorts that go on over your tights, and they cover your hips and your tailbone. My coach thinks they look ridiculous, and they're definitely not the most comfortable thing ever, but I definitely would rather look weird than have bruises everywhere.
> 
> Also, I'm finally on holiday break!! Requests are closed for now ~~because I'm drowning in them~~ but over the break I'm going to do plenty of writing!


	8. No Homo Tho (JooKyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jooheon is the star hockey player for his university. His long time rival, a figure skater by the name of Lim Changkyun, is his roommate for the duration of his final year.
> 
> 18.5k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Hyojinie. Dude, this request was so awesome. I had a blast writing it. Enemies to lovers is one of my all time favorite tropes. 
> 
> Rivals to lovers JooKyun! Rated T for language and adults acting like idiots.
> 
> Changkyun's [Short Program Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9gFLkNdHvA&feature=youtu.be) / [ Costume](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/9d/cd/12/9dcd12f9159c08b7028ba005facc2fb2.jpg)  
> Changkyun's [Free Skate Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpaKTvvKUDQ&list=PLqGoSIMP0W97jqtY-Awy2hLZZORJmj1VC) / [Costume](https://hips.hearstapps.com/hmg-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/images/gettyimages-902072426-1517887551.jpg?crop=1.00xw:0.847xh;0,0.0561xh&resize=768:*)

Starship University has a long history of ice and snow related sports. The university is a well known sports college; it has a reputation for producing Olympians in all winter sports. This is thanks to the university’s campus being located in Pyeongchang, South Korea, near the Yongpyong Resort, a tourist location that beholds a vast cluster of mountains and slopes perfect for skiing, snowboarding, and climbing. However, the university isn’t known only for their skiers and snowboarders, but also their hockey players and figure skaters.

And the figure skaters and hockey players are wonderful. Coached by Kwon Jiyong and Choi Seunghyun respectively, they are some of the most talented individuals Korea has seen. Kwon Jiyong, being a jump specialist, produces skaters who are renowned for their stunning technique and clean lines. Choi Seunghyun, an Olympic hockey player himself, trains his athletes into fast, agile, and strong players who dominate the ice from the moment their blades touch the surface. 

They’re brilliant, the lot of them. Absolutely brilliant.

They share a rink.

The building itself is located by the mountains; the entire area including the rink and the slopes is called the Gyeoul Ice Park—or simply Gyeoul to the university students. The ice rink, christened the Pokseol Ice Castle in 1972, is an indoor, two story building near the gondola lifts that take the snowboarders and skiers to the top of the slopes. It’s an expansive building that, in addition to the spacious sheet of ice upon which the athletes practice, contains three dance studios, two equipment rooms, four locker rooms, and two small gyms. The lobby is something straight out of a Christmas story book: with a giant brick fireplace, several tables and desks, and cushioned benches and couches, many of the athletes who call the rink home enjoy studying, reading, or relaxing in the lobby.

The rink managers have long since developed fixed schedules that clearly outline who can be on the ice and when. But as the figure skaters and the hockey players began to gain popularity and recognition throughout Korea, the homey rink became an object of possession. The ice skaters would defend their ice time, and in turn, the hockey players would demand more space. 

To make matters worse, the skaters, with their fabulous technique, often create deep nicks in the ice, nicks that can cause a hockey puck to careen the opposite direction. The hockey players, with their thin, razor sharp blades, leave long, deep curves and grooves in the flawless surface, the kind of curves and grooves that can catch a toepick and send a skater sprawling.

Numerous solutions have been proposed, by people on both sides of the argument. The most popular solution is to build a new rink. The university is by no means poor, and there is plenty of excess space within the campus for another ice rink, but the skaters and hockey players could not decide to whom the rink should belong. Should the figure skaters receive the new rink, and the hockey players stay stuck with the rink with damaged ice? Or vice versa? It hardly seems fair, so nothing was ever done. Most students at the college suspect nothing will _ever_ be done about it—so the figure katers and the hockey players will continue to wreck the ice and continue to blame the other team.

And from this issue a school-wide rivalry was born. It became a game of tug-of-war. Blame was thrown back and forth. Neither side are completely innocent and there have been times when both the hockey players and the figure skaters have risked suspension entirely. School directors have toyed with the idea of shutting down the rink entirely, but that would destroy the school’s reputation, and some of the students who use the rink are truly on their way to the Olympic Games.

But how else are you supposed to put an end to a rivalry where neither side is totally faultless?

* * *

Nineteen year old Lim Changkyun sighs as he slips his key card into the door handle of his new apartment. It’s a coldish day in March, and the semester will begin in only a couple of days. Being a fourth year, he’s finally allowed to live off campus, and even though he’s been assigned a roommate and the commute to his university is longer, he really is glad to at least live away from the hustle and bustle of the campus. He’d spent three long years of living in the university dorms, and while he’s never had a truly bad roommate, the dorms in the college are too small, and he’s relieved to be living in a bigger space at last. 

As he swings the door open, he stops to take in the flat.

It’s a two-bedroom flat. His parents agreed to help him with the down payment of the flat as long as he has a roommate, which had been arranged by his university fairly easily. He’s not the only senior eager to move off campus, it seems. 

Standing in the front doorway, directly to his left is a shoe and coat closet. Directly to his right is the first bedroom, which is still unoccupied, he realizes, opening the door. He shucks off his coat and shoes, drops his suitcases by the front door, and travels slowly through the apartment, making sure everything is in accordance with the lease. Next to the coat closet is one of two bathrooms, and further down the hall is the archway to the small kitchen. Across from the kitchen is a plain table with three chairs, and by the window and balcony is a sofa and coffee table directly across a tiny television. Next to the television is the door that leads to the second bedroom and connected bathroom. 

His roommate, whom he has yet to meet, is not in the room yet, it seems. He uses this to advantage and claims the bigger bedroom with the connected bathroom as his own, dragging his suitcases into the bigger room. It’s not terribly big, but it has a closet and a bathroom, and he also doesn’t have much with him in terms of furniture. There are some things he’ll have to go out and buy today; groceries and bedclothes, to name a few.

Last year he’d been lucky to share a room with Seungkwan, a skater on his team, but this year it seems he’ll have to cross his fingers when it comes to his roommate.

He lugs his suitcase onto the mattress. As a first year, he hadn’t minded roommates, but as he got older he started to wish he had his own space. Seungkwan is a great roommate, don’t get him wrong, but he can’t wait for the day he’ll have a home all to himself.

 _Only one more year,_ he tells himself. _One more and then I’ll be on my own for real._

One of his three suitcases is carrying his skates and athletic clothes, so he leaves it by his desk and decides to do a quick cleaning spree before unloading any of his belongings. He gets as far as wiping down the surface of his desk and bedside table before the buzzer on the apartment door signals the entry of someone else, and, curious, Changkyun pokes his head around the door to see his new roommate.

His heart stops when _Lee fucking Jooheon_ waltzes into the space. He shuffles into the hallway; he also has three bags: one of them is clearly his hockey bag, given the size of the thing. 

Their eyes meet for a moment. Jooheon stops dead.

“Oh, hell no.”

“Oh, _hell_ no!”

* * *

The apartment suddenly feels way too small with Jooheon’s giant presence and even bigger ego. Changkyun makes his escape as quickly as he can. Without exchanging any other words, he finishes cleaning his room and doesn’t even bother to unpack his clothes before slipping back into his coat and shoes and heading down the building. 

Alone in the elevator on his way down, he wonders which higher deity or god has it out for him this time. He doesn’t believe in fate, but he’s pissed at coincidence for making such a cruel move. _What_ are the odds of this? 

As he pushes out of the apartment building into the sluggish air of March, he sighs. He can feel his phone buzz against his leg in his back pocket, but he’s not in the mood to talk to anyone. He instead plugs his earbuds in and lets himself get lost in the music.

He wants to skate. He doesn’t want to go shopping. But the rink won’t technically be open until school starts back up, and if he doesn’t go get groceries now, he won’t have anything to eat tonight and he won’t have another opportunity to shop until the next evening, and he can’t wait that long. 

He remembers his mother telling him that there’s a public rink in the shopping center. He’s managed to avoid skating in public ice arenas since he was a first year in high school, but it seems now he’ll have to break that streak. After shopping, he decides he’ll check it out.

Because the apartment complex and the shopping center are so close to the campus, there are plenty of college students preparing for the year, and Changkyun sees a couple of people he recognizes among the shoppers. He picks up a set of bedsheets and pillowcases first before making his way towards the grocery store.

He hopes he won’t have to spell it out for Jooheon that he’s not going to shop or cook for him. No fucking way in _hell_ is he going to do that. Jooheon has a job; he can do that himself.

He’s also not going to let Jooheon’s presence bully him into his room. He made the down payment for the apartment, dammit, he’s going to enjoy the space. He’s not going to spend all of his time in his room now that he has the space to stretch his arms.

Grocery shopping doesn’t take long at all despite the business of the store. After years of shopping for food accustomed to his diet, he knows where everything is and exactly what he needs, and he’s fueled by the idea of skating, so he gets in and out of the store fairly quickly. 

The weather has gotten considerably colder in the short time he was in the store, probably due to the oncoming rain, so he takes the metro back to the apartment complex, and with every step he takes towards the room he feels his heart sinking to his stomach.

He punches in the passcode and pushes his way into the apartment. He doesn’t see Jooheon, but the bedroom door closest to the front door is closed. Good. He can stay in there for all Changkyun cares.

He deposits his bedsheets and other toiletries in his (thankfully untouched) room and moves into the small kitchen to put away his groceries. 

It’s here that he’s finally cornered by Jooheon. Changkyun hears him before he sees him—even his footsteps are loud, sheesh—and he doesn’t turn around when he hears the hockey player pause in the kitchen doorway.

“I think we need to draw some boundaries,” Jooheon says. 

Changkyun scoffs, placing the container of raw chicken in the second drawer of the refrigerator. “Boundaries, huh? You have your bedroom and bathroom, and I have mine. I’m not going to let your presence back me into my room all the time. This is my home, too.”

Jooheon puts his hands up in surrender. “I mean, which parts of the fridge and cabinets belong to you and me.”

Changkyun scowls. He hadn’t thought about that. Stupid. Why hadn’t he thought about that?

“Well, I’ve already put some of my stuff away. You can have the second shelf and the second drawer.” Changkyun says shortly, then gestures to three of the six cabinets on the right wall. “And those three cabinets.”

“Fine,” Jooheon sighs. 

He disappears again, and Changkyun waits until he hears the bedroom door click shut before letting himself relax.

_Fucking hell._

* * *

A few days later the Pokseol Ice Castle is finally opened. It’s Monday, and that means that from eight in the morning to one in the afternoon, the figure skating team has complete use of the ice. Changkyun leaves early so he can catch one of the campus shuttles to the Gyeoul Ice Park, but despite his haste, he’s one of the last ones to arrive at the rink when the doors open. He can hear voices in the ice area, but heads to the locker room first to drop off his belongings. 

He meets Hyungwon and Minhyuk in the men’s skating locker room. Both in the process of lacing their skates, they smile at him in greeting. 

“How’ve you been?” Minhyuk asks cheerily. He’s grown out his hair and dyed it blonde, to Changkyun’s surprise. It looks good.

“Not bad,” Changkyun says. He pulls his suitcase towards his locker, lays it open on the bench and begins putting everything back. He leaves out his skates, bungapads, and gloves, but puts everything else away, and sighs in satisfaction when everything is back where it belongs.

“Changkyun, you’re not living on campus this year, are you?” Hyungwon asks casually.

The question reminds Changkyun of his current living situation and he heaves a long sigh.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, pulling his trainers off.

Minhyuk cocks his blonde head in confusion. “I thought you were excited to live in an apartment. What’s the sigh for?”

“My parents only agreed to let me move off campus as long as I’d find a roommate,” Changkyun says. 

Hyungwon raises an eyebrow; he and Minhyuk share a look. 

“No big deal, right? “ Changkyun continues. “That’s what I thought, too, but my roommate this year is Lee Jooheon.”

“Nuh uh,” Minhyuk breathes. His eyes are wide in doubt.

Changkyun nods grimly. Hyungwon’s expression turns to pity. 

“What are the odds?” Hyungwon says, standing. He picks up his blade guards.

“Really, though?” Minhyuk looks to be in utter disbelief. "Like, actually?"

“Unfortunately, yes,” Changkyun says, tying his laces with a bit more force than necessary. Once finished, he gathers his gloves, blade guards and water bottle.

“That… sucks,” Minhyuk says. He stands when Changkyun does, and the three of them head out into the arena together.

Most of their friends are already there when they step onto the ice as a group of three. Yoohyeon, the excited puppy she is, grins and waves as Changkyun, Minhyuk and Hyungwon approach the cluster of skaters gathered by the stereo.

Seeing his friends, his teammates, is enough to boost his mood. They are the people he’s spent some of his most precious memories with. His heart is somewhat heavy with the knowledge that he’s graduating this year, but he shrugs it off, happy to be in their presence again. 

“Minhyuk, you look like someone’s just died,” Seonghwa says, and at once, everyone’s attention is brought to Minhyuk. Indeed, his expression is still incredulous and crestfallen.

“Changkyun’s roommate this year is Lee Jooheon.”

“No,” Yoohyeon gasps. Her hands, halfway through gathering her hair into a ponytail, drop to her sides in shock. 

“Are you serious?” Seungkwan demands, looking between Minhyuk and Changkyun in horror.

Changkyun nods. Seonghwa groans.

“Oh, dude…” Seokmin mumbles, grimacing. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Can you request a roommate change?” Seonghwa asks, pulling his blade guards off. 

Changkyun shakes his head. “I’m living off campus this year. The school can’t do anything about it,” he explains. “And the only way I could file for an eviction is if he’s, like, charged with a crime, or something.”

“Frame him for murder,” Gahyeon says, completely serious. 

Her comment has everyone laughing. She’s the newest addition to their team; a second year at the university, she and Yoohyeon, being the only girls on the team, are pretty much attached at the hip. Actually, now that Changkyun thinks about it, he’s quite sure Gahyeon and Yoohyeon are part of the same friend circle. Gahyeon’s hair is a shocking pink, and most of her skating attire is shades of black. Her resting face is a little scary, unlike Yoohyeon, who is the equivalent of a human puppy, but Gahyeon wouldn’t be on the team if she wasn’t a good skater. Changkyun has long since stopped underestimating both girls and their skills.

“No, really,” Gahyeon badgers. “I have to read this terrifying true crime novel for my English literature class. It’s giving me some serious ideas.”

Before anyone can answer, the door to the ice area swings open and in walks Kwon Jiyong, the coach of the figure skating team at the university. He’s dressed in his padded, black Olympic Team Korea jacket and he’s already wearing his skates.

“Welcome back, team,” he says by way of greeting, and steps onto the ice. “How was everyone’s break? Also, who are we framing for murder?”

Seungkwan, Seokmin and Yoohyeon burst into giggles. Changkyun allows himself to smile, too, but Gahyeon looks totally serious.

“Changkyun is rooming with Lee Jooheon this year,” she says in a stage whisper.

Jiyong looks at Changkyun for confirmation. His expression turns into a wince as Changkyun nods.

“Oh, Jesus…” Jiyong sighs. 

“It’s… fine,” Changkyun says, even though he doesn’t really feel like it’s fine. “I’ll get through it.”

He always does. Yeah. Definitely.

* * *

The first month of school is tolerable at best. Changkyun and Jooheon have alternating schedules, so sometimes Changkyun will get home first and other times it will be Jooheon who is the first one to walk in the door. They’ve come to an unspoken agreement that whoever gets home first will have dibs on the kitchen, the laundry room, the dining area and the living room for things like making food, doing homework, doing chores, watching television, playing games, et cetera. 

Once, Jooheon had come home and tried to watch a hockey game while Changkyun was studying at the dining room table. That had not gone well. Changkyun highly doubts Jooheon will try anything similar again. Following that, they try to avoid each other as much as possible when they’re literally sharing a living space.

If Changkyun had it his way, he’d spend most of his time in the rink. In particular, the rink lobby, with its ever-burning fireplace, comfortable cushions, and high-tech tables with built-in power outlets, is a popular spot to study, relax, or hang out even for students who aren’t skaters or hockey players. But the hockey players have gotten so territorial and protective of their time in the building that even when Changkyun is alone in the lobby, not doing anything other than studying or reading, they pick on him and laugh at him and refuse to leave him alone. These days, Changkyun just doesn’t have the energy to haul his schoolwork to the rink, knowing he’ll inevitably have to deal with their brutish behavior.

As it is, Changkyun and Jooheon don’t see much of each other anyway. Since they’re both fourth year students, they’ve got fewer classes this year, but now that they’re both captains of the respective ice teams, they spend a lot of alternating time at the rink. Changkyun couldn’t care less about Jooheon’s classes and schedules, so he doesn’t know where Jooheon is when he’s not in the flat or at the ice arena. The only time they’re really in the apartment together is at night, when they’re done with classes and practice for the day and ready to wind down.

Also, Jooheon snores. Loudly.

On a warm Friday in late April, there’s a clash between the skaters and the hockey players. Changkyun is both proud and surprised that it had taken this long, really; the two teams had made it almost the whole month of April without any kind of interference. It was a new record.

The hockey players had the ice first on Friday and Fridays are the days before the weekly hockey game, meaning the hockey players have an extended session. So, when the figure skaters gathered at the rink to get ready, the stupid brutes were still there, wrecking the ice. Within ten minutes of every skater arriving at the rink, the hockey team had disbanded and left. As the zamboni resurfaced the ice, Changkyun relished in the fact that they were gone at last.

And then Gahyeon found her skate bag had been rifled through. She’d realized she was missing several things: her gloves, her makeup bag, her bungapads, her blade towel, even her nylon socks and her water bottle had been taken. This led to the whole team being dispatched about the rink in search of her stuff, and by the time everything had been found, all of them had wasted an hour of their precious ice time, Gahyeon was in tears, and Changkyun was seething.

He’s still seeing red by the time he walks into the apartment towards the end of the day, and Jooheon is sitting on the sofa, a hockey game displayed on the television.

“Do you think you’re funny?” Changkyun demands, dropping his rucksack on the floor by his bedroom door.

Jooheon doesn't even glance at him and grunts in response. “I like to think I’m hilarious.”

Changkyun clenches his fists at his side. “Why do you idiots think it’s necessary to mess with us? We haven’t done anything to you since school started. Did you get bored, or something?”

This seems to get Jooheon’s attention. He glances over. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I genuinely do not.”

“You and your stupid teammates took Gahyeon’s belongings and hid them all over the rink,” Changkyun fumes. 

Jooheon pauses the game on the television with a sigh. “I didn’t participate in that.”

“But you knew?” Changkyun bites.

Jooheon shrugs.

“You’re absolutely pathetic,” Changkyun snaps, throwing his arms up. “Don’t you know that you’re responsible for your teammates and their actions? You’re their _captain_! And if you had an ounce of respect for anyone except yourself, you’d do something about it.”

There’s a pause. Jooheon stares at Changkyun, uninterested, while Changkyun smolders on the inside. Then Jooheon unpauses the hockey game and shifts his eyes back to the screen.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Jooheon says.

Changkyun almost hits him. 

* * *

To say things get worse from there is an understatement. Having the rink in the morning on Saturdays means they have access to the whole building; Seungkwan and Seokmin decided to get even with the hockey players by hiding the bucket of hockey pucks, and it seemed the brutes were too stupid to find the bucket, leading to a whole practice without any pucks at all. It was only once their coach, Choi Seunghyun, got involved that they found the bucket of pucks hidden underneath the basket of feminine products in the girls’ locker room. And because hockey pucks have to be frozen before a match to reduce bouncing on the ice, their Saturday game was delayed by an hour to return the pucks to their playable quality.

They’d lost the game. 

Changkyun thought it was genius, but Jiyong wasn’t impressed. He’d given them all a hundred and fifty torture twists and a hundred and fifty lunge jumps on each leg as punishment once Seungkwan and Seokmin came clean.

“It’s okay to want to stand up for your friends, but don’t stoop to their level,” Jiyong had scolded. “Be the bigger person, guys. I want to put an end to this stupid rivalry this year.”

Changkyun would have given his coach’s wise words more thought if his abdominal muscles weren’t screaming in agony. Getting out of bed the next morning had been pure torture, but the nasty look Jooheon had tossed his way as Changkyun left for the ice arena had given Changkyun a feeling of deep satisfaction.

Despite what most students at the university believe, there are times when the hockey players and the figure skaters reach a ceasefire, however brief it may be. There’s a metaphorical area of No Man’s Land between the two groups, and the one one who is allowed to walk that No Man’s Land is the one and only Yoo Kihyun.

Kihyun is a freestyle snowboarder. He’s one of the best on the university’s team. And he is considered off-limits by both the hockey team and the figure skating team. This is because both teams have claimed him: his boyfriend, Hyunwoo, is on the hockey team, and Kihyun has been friends with Minhyuk since they were toddlers. Whenever there’s a dispute between the opposing sides, Kihyun is usually the one to calm the waters until someone starts the fight again.

It’s a vicious cycle, for lack of a better term. Someone from one team will cause an issue, the other team will retaliate, and Kihyun will swoop in to force the teams to come to a temporary armistice. Rinse and repeat.

If Kihyun didn’t have his sights set on the Olympic snowboarding team, Changkyun thinks he’d make an excellent counselor. The reason Kihyun always manages to get the two teams to stop fighting, at least for a little while, is because he has everyone’s utmost respect, both as an athlete and as a person. 

There isn’t very much true goodness in the world, but Changkyun believes Kihyun is a walking miracle.

So, during morning practice the day after the hockey puck incident, Changkyun isn’t surprised to find Kihyun watching from the stands. Kihyun doesn’t usually watch morning practices because the slopes are easier to practice on when it’s colder in the morning, so when Changkyun spots him sitting alone on the bleachers, bundled in a winter parka despite the increasing late spring heat outside, he knows he’s in for it now.

Kihyun spends the rest of the morning there, so when Changkyun finally steps off the ice at a quarter to one in the afternoon, he smirks a little to see that Kihyun looks like he’s freezing.

“I feel like the single parent of thirty two adult babies,” Kihyun says dryly as Changkyun approaches.

Changkyun snickers, then smiles sheepishly. “At least we made it to April…?”

Kihyun gives him a look. 

“Do you wanna go into the lobby?” Changkyun asks. “It’s warmer in there.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

Now it’s Changkyun’s turn to stare, gazing pointedly at the parka Kihyun dons. Kihyun sighs and stands up, and follows Changkyun out into the warm lobby.

Changkyun is hot, because it’s warm outside and that means that even the cold rink is warmer, but Kihyun seems glad to be out of the ice area. They pick a sofa further away from the fireplace and sit down together.

“What did Jiyong and Seunghyun have to say about these little stunts?” Kihyun asks, pulling off his parka as he sinks into the cushions.

“Well, I don’t know about Seunghyun, but I know he was pissed when his players sent him into the girls’ locker room instead of going in themselves,” Changkyun says with a small laugh, then sobers. “Jiyong wasn’t pleased, though. My abs are so sore, Kihyun.”

Kihyun doesn’t look the least sympathetic. “You kind of deserved it.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“No, but your team members did,” Kihyun argues, “and they’re technically your responsibility.”

“I don’t have any problem taking responsibility for their actions. As their captain, that’s what I’m supposed to do,” Changkyun protests. “But Jooheon doesn’t. He didn’t help his teammates hide Gahyeon’s stuff, but he also didn’t do anything to stop them. He didn’t take the blame.”

“This isn’t about Jooheon,” Kihyun says. “I’m going to deal with him and Hyunwoo later. This is about your decisions.”

“Kihyun, he’s my roommate this year,” Changkyun whines.

“So I’ve heard.”

“This is just torture, Ki. I don’t know how I’m going to last this year. You’ll have to clean my bones out of my bed.”

Kihyun rolls his eyes. “He’s not going to kill you, Changkyun.”

“He might. Gahyeon thinks I could frame him for murder. I don’t know him; he could be a psychopath.”

“Exactly, Changkyun,” Kihyun says suddenly, snapping his fingers. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m trying to say. You _don’t_ know him. Maybe you should try befriending him.”

Changkyun gapes at him, then starts laughing.

“Funny,” he chuckles. “Really amusing.”

Kihyun doesn’t laugh with him. Changkyun feels the smile slip off his face.

“Be _friends_ with him?” he repeats. “You’re literally crazy. His presence alone makes me want to throw up.”

“He could probably say the same about you,” Kihyun says.

Changkyun scoffs. “He should consider himself lucky to be in my presence. I am a _delight_ to be around.”

“He doesn’t know that,” Kihyun says pointedly.

Changkyun blinks, not sure what to say to that. Kihyun meets his gaze evenly, waiting for a reaction.

Completely unsure of how to respond, Changkyun settles for asking, “what’s your point?”

“Well, you kind of went into this whole mess already swinging your fists at each other,” Kihyun says. “I witnessed it. In first year, you made the figure skating team, Jooheon made the hockey team, and the first thing you both heard about was the rivalry. You haven’t taken the time or opportunity to, like, get to know him at all.” 

He pauses, looking at Changkyun again for a response, but Changkyun genuinely has no idea what to say. Kihyun heaves a sigh.

“What I’m saying is, you don’t hate each other because you’ve got a history of having personally wronged each other, or something. You hate each other out of obligation.”

Changkyun pauses, speechless. He had never considered that before. Kihyun can obviously recognize the internal enlightenment Changkyun is experiencing, because he nods victoriously.

“Honestly, Changkyun, I’ve followed both teams since we were all first years,” he says. “I’ve seen it grow, change, get worse, get better, get worse again. And every year, this stupid rivalry gets more and more pitiful. I don’t want you to leave this university only remembering the horrible shit you and the hockey players did to each other. At least for your sake, just—I don’t know—try being civil. Try understanding him. You might get to know someone you thought you’d never know.”

“So how should I start?” Changkyun asks. “I’m not opposed to it”—a lie, for the most part—“but there’s no telling what Jooheon is gonna do. I mean, he’s more prideful than me, with all his hoity-toity ‘no homo’ bullshit. If I try to get to know him and he turns out to be the same asshole I think he is, then what?”

“Jooheon isn’t an asshole.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Kihyun shrugs. “If you try to get to know him and he’s still a prick to you, at least you can say you tried.”

Changkyun sits back against the couch cushion with a sigh. “Where should I start?”

Kihyun thinks for a moment. “The hockey season just ended, and it doesn’t resume until early October, but they’ve got a couple of scrimmages lined up before they start playing for real. Why don’t you join me at a few of the scrimmages?”

“I don’t know how the game is played,” Changkyun says. “I’m afraid I’d either annoy you or bore you with my constant questions.”

“So do some research,” Kihyun suggests. “It’s not a hard game to follow once you get good at watching the puck. And you won’t annoy me by asking questions. Lord knows how patient Hyunwoo had to be with me when I started learning about it.”

“Ugh. Imagine dating a hockey player,” Changkyun groans, and dodges, laughing, as Kihyun swings at him. 

* * *

The long, warm month of May passes and leaves the door open for the heat of June as it passes by, and Changkyun is tired of having to change in and out of his jacket when going to and from the rink. Even in the very northern part of Pyeongchang, where the mountains are the tallest and coldest, the summers are warm. Of course, being located near the slopes of the Taebaek Mountain region, there’s no shortage of snow even when the sun’s rays turn angry, but after spending hours in the rink, working and sweating, sometimes the summer sun is too much and Changkyun has to resist the urge to find the nearest patch of snow and lie down in it. He wonders how Kihyun does it; every day, rain or shine, hot or cold, he wears the same parka, goggles, helmet, gloves, snow pants—and he wears it like the professional he is.

On a sunny afternoon in mid June, Changkyun agrees to meet Kihyun after their morning practices have concluded and return to the rink to watch the hockey scrimmage. Changkyun, having just finished his practice for the day, would be dead meat if he were caught still in the rink once the hockey players enter the building, so as he waits for Kihyun to arrive from the slopes, he waits (hides) in the men’s locker room in the west part of the building—the area dedicated to the skaters. Even from inside the locker room, he can hear the hockey players as they bang their way into the lobby, yelling and hollering and slapping at each other’s helmets. He wonders why he ever agreed to this. 

At least living with Jooheon has sort of gotten better. They’ve gotten very skilled at avoiding each other when they’re both inside the apartment, and Jooheon keeps to his space, which is more than Changkyun expected from him. Aside from the loud snoring, Jooheon is a fairly clean roommate. 

What’s better is they’ve come to an unspoken mutual agreement that the rivalry between them takes place only outside the apartment. The little flat is decidedly too small for the both of them, but it has finally become a place where Changkyun can (sort of) relax, as he and Jooheon have come to a ceasefire of some kind. As long as they keep to themselves, don’t meddle with each other’s belongings, and avoid any kind of social interaction at all, living in the apartment is tolerable.

Outside the flat, though, it’s fair game. Their enmity ceases only when they’re both inside the flat: anywhere else, they’re competitive as normal. At least the moments in his apartment are peaceful.

Changkyun pulls his phone out of his pocket when it buzzes against his legs.

 **_Hamster:_ ** _I’m at the rink. Where are you?_

He takes a deep breath and pushes his way gently out of the locker room; after looking around to make sure the coast is clear, he heads into the lobby, where he sees Kihyun hanging his snowboarding parka on the hooks on the wall by the entrance doors.

“Hey,” Kihyun says by way of greeting.

“Hey,” Changkyun says. Kihyun turns to face him, then gives him a once over.

“You’re going to be cold in that,” Kihyun says, pointing at the thin jacket Changkyun is wearing.

Changkyun gives him a funny look. He’s wearing what he’d worn to practice: black skating tights, an athletic top, and his Starship University figure skating jacket. 

“What do you mean, I’ll be cold?” Changkyun asks, looking at his attire. “This is what I always wear.”

“I know, but you’re not going to be on the ice,” Kihyun points out. “You’re gonna be watching. Sitting. Not moving. And you’re going to be cold. I know this because I experience it every time I come here.”

Changkyun hadn’t considered that. He nods. “Okay, I’ll be right back. Meet you on the bleachers.”

When he returns from the locker room, wearing his winter coat— _in the middle of June, what is his life_ —he pushes into the rink area, where the entirety of the team is already on the ice. Half of them are wearing orange and black, and the other half are wearing orange and white. The two players by the opposite goals are wearing blue and green respectively. Kihyun is sitting on the bleachers, watching.

Alone.

_Does no one else come to watch the scrimmages?_

“You did not tell me that we’d be alone,” Changkyun hisses as he comes to sit by Kihyun on the hard metal benches. 

Kihyun gives him a sideways glance. “What did you expect?”

He’d expected a crowd he’d be able to hide in. In his all-black attire, he stands out like a sore thumb against the cold grey bleachers, and they’re close enough to the rink that any player who looks at them for more than two seconds is going to recognize Changkyun.

“I did not agree to this,” Changkyun snaps under his breath.

“Yes, you did. I have the text conversation to prove it.”

Changkyun rubs his face with his hands. 

“Okay, so, tell me the basics of the game,” he sighs, admitting defeat.

“I told you to do research.”

“I’m a busy man, Kihyun.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Kihyun says, then clears his throat. “Ice hockey is a sport that is played by two teams on ice. The players wear ice skates on their feet and can skate across the ice at very high speeds. They hold hockey sticks, which they use to push, shoot or pass a puck around the ice. The players score by shooting the puck into a net. The goaltenders try to stop them.”

Changkyun glances at him, unamused. “Did you just recite the Wikipedia definition?”

“I knew you wouldn’t research it.”

Walking miracle or not, Kihyun can be really impish when he feels like it. 

Changkyun sighs and turns back to the ice.

“How many on the ice at a time?”

“Six per team, twelve total. Each team has two defenders, three forwards, and goaltender.”

“So the other guys just sit and watch?”

“Pretty much,” Kihyun says. “But everyone gets plenty of ice time. They rotate players.”

Changkyun nods. He’s not willing to admit to himself just yet that he’s curious to see how the game works. He doesn’t think he could ever be a hockey player, even if he knew the game and had the physique and skill. Figure skating isn’t a team sport. He has his friends, sure, and he’s grown up with figure skaters as his closest friends and confidants, but at the end of the day, they’re also his competitors, and it’s hard to find a balance between being teammates and being rivals. That’s why, as the captain of the university’s skaters, he tries to promote teamwork any chance he gets: group workouts in particular are a good time to encourage a team mentality.

“Does the coach always play referee?” Changkyun asks, gesturing to Seunghyun in his black and white striped shirt.

“No, no. Just during scrimmages.”

“How does he coach and ref at the same time?”

“He doesn’t,” Kihyun says. “I’ve watched enough of these scrimmages to know that he saves the coaching for after the match. His scrimmages are more like a chance for him to see how they play. How they’ve progressed as a team and as individuals.”

Changkyun nods in consideration. Jiyong is usually always barking instructions, corrections and suggestions from the rink’s edge, even when he’s doing run-throughs of his routine. 

A whistle blows. As Kihyun had explained, the five players in orange and five in white form a sort of circle in the middle of the rink. The goaltenders take their positions at the nets at the opposite end of the ice.

“Which one is Jooheon?” Changkyun asks under his breath.

“Number seven. Orange jersey.”

After searching for a minute, he sees Jooheon on the right side of the rink, closest to where Kihyun and Changkyun are seated.

“Is that his normal position?” Changkyun asks. 

Kihyun nods. “He plays right wing.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“He has to stay towards the right side of the rink.”

Changkyun nods. Another whistle blows and something small and black slides across the ice. All at once the players go after it, like a herd of wildebeest. The puck is moving so fast Changkyun can’t even see it as it’s battered around the ice, clicking noisily off of the sticks.

Kihyun is watching the game with ease, but Changkyun is struggling, so he decides to watch one player and one player only. His eyes fall on the orange jersey closest to him, with the number seven printed onto the fabric. Changkyun can’t hardly see Jooheon under the helmet, but suddenly Jooheon gives a wild swing of his stick and with an ear splitting clack, the black puck goes flying into the goal at the east end of the rink. Everyone wearing orange jerseys, including Jooheon, burst into yells and hollers. Jooheon pumps his fist in the air. 

Kihyun is clapping. Reflexively, Changkyun joins him, even though he has no idea what he just watched. 

The game is played in three twenty minute periods, with short breaks in between each period. By the last two minutes of the last period, the teams are tied six to six. He bites at his nail, looking back and forth between the hockey players and the giant red clock on the wall, counting steadily down to minute zero. The players are fully invested in their game, and he can hear the poor rubber puck as it’s smacked around on the ice, clacking and clicking violently off of every stick it hits.

Changkyun blinks and then there’s twenty seconds left on the clock. There’s a shout, then another clap of the puck bouncing off Jooheon’s stick. Changkyun barely manages to catch sight of the thing as it flies across the slick surface, right between the green goaltender’s legs, and into the net.

In the span of five seconds, the game board on the wall changes from six to six to seven to six, and the shriek of a whistle splits the air. The players on the ice erupt into loud shouts and cheers.

“What just happened?” Changkyun asks, shocked.

Next to him, Kihyun is grinning and clapping. “The game is over. Hyunwoo’s team won! Jooheon scored the winning shot!”

Changkyun sits back in his seat, dumbfounded, as Kihyun gets up and hurries down the bleachers towards the players to rejoice their victory with them. 

His eyes follow Jooheon as the hockey star pounces on Hyunwoo, his mouth wide open in a cry of triumph. He hadn’t realized his eyes stayed on Jooheon the entire game. Changkyun doesn’t know anything about hockey, but he doesn’t need to know much to recognize that Jooheon is an excellent player. His team, the orange team, wins seven to six, and Jooheon had made at least three of the goals, including the winning one.

As he watches the players celebrate and congratulate each other, it hits him that in all his years sharing a rink with them, he hadn’t really stopped to consider the fact that the hockey team is actually very good. Son Hyunwoo, Kihyun’s boyfriend, plays center, while Jooheon and Lee Hoseok are right and left wingers respectively. Jeon Jungkook and Kim Mingyu play defenders, and the goaltenders are two boys Changkyun knows by name only: Choi Seungcheol and Song Mingi. He supposes there’s a reason Starship is known for producing Olympians in every winter sport. 

He also realizes the players look much scarier when they’re completely decked out in all their gear. Changkyun stays seated on the bleachers as the players get off the ice, observing. He watches them all shrug out of their jerseys and shoulder pads and pull their giant helmets off their heads and while most of them are pretty muscular, they’re all about half the size they seem to be when wearing the pads and jerseys.

A flash of deep black catches the right side of his gaze and he glances over to see Jooheon talking to the goaltender in blue, Seungcheol. Jooheon is absolutely soaked in sweat, and as he tosses his head back to laugh brightly at something Seungcheol says to him, he combs his veiny hand through his damp black locks. Catching the harsh glow from the overhead fluorescent lights of the arena, Changkyun doesn’t think Jooheon has ever looked more attractive than he does in that moment.

His heart beats a little faster the whole way home. 

* * *

A few hours later, Changkyun is at the dining room table working on an assignment for his music theory class when the front door opens and Jooheon comes inside. Neither of them say anything, as is customary. Changkyun acts like Jooheon doesn’t exist. Jooheon does the same.

“I saw you at the rink,” Jooheon says suddenly. “During the scrimmage.”

It startles Changkyun more than he’d care to admit. He’d kind of thought they’d reached a pact of silence in the apartment.

“Uh, yeah,” Changkyun says lamely.

“Did Kihyun drag you there?”

“For lack of a better term, yes,” Changkyun says, nodding slowly. 

He decides to take the leap. 

“You’re, um, a good player.” He says awkwardly.

Jooheon glances at him, and for a moment his expression is unreadable. Changkyun looks at the tabletop, unable to bring himself to look at Jooheon in the face.

“Look,” Jooheon begins, and Changkyun’s stomach sinks at the hardness of his tone. “I know Kihyun is trying to force us to get along, but I don’t want nor do I need to be your friend.”

Changkyun puts his head in his hand. He’d known this would happen.

“I like you better as a rival.” Jooheon bites. “Don’t expect to get all chummy with me.”

“All I said was that you’re a good player,” Changkyun says weakly. He kind of feels like crying, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to let Jooheon see that. He doesn’t want to give Jooheon the satisfaction. 

“I don’t need your compliments,” Jooheon snarls. “I know I’m a good player. And what do you know about hockey, anyway? You wouldn’t know a good player if he came up and hit you in the face.”

Changkyun doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to say. 

It’s silent for what feels like a long time. Jooheon is sizing him up, trying to make himself seem bigger. Changkyun can’t believe this is the same man that, only hours earlier, he’d found attractive, shining and grinning in his sweaty glory after scoring the winning goal. He reminds Changkyun of a threatened peacock, flaunting its feathers in the face of danger as a means of scaring off predators. But this is a little scarier than an angry bird. Jooheon’s hostility is rolling off him in waves; it’s almost palpable and Changkyun just wants him to go away. Or vanish himself. Either works.

“Are you gonna cry?” Jooheon mocks.

“You’re such a prick,” Changkyun snaps, aware his voice is shaking.

Jooheon scoffs. 

“Pussy,” he jeers.

He vanishes into his room, and slams the door behind him.

* * *

When Jooheon leaves the rink the next morning after practice, he makes it six steps away from the arena doors before he runs straight into Changkyun, who is just stepping off one of the campus shuttles. Despite nearly having been bowled over entirely, Changkyun doesn’t even look at Jooheon as he heads towards the rink. As he passes, Jooheon realizes he has his earbuds in, and as he approaches the rink entrance he pulls them out and stuffs them into his pocket. Jooheon kind of feels as though he should say something, but before he can come up with anything to say, Changkyun disappears through the glass doors.

To say he feels bad about what had happened the previous night is an understatement. He feels terrible. He doesn’t know why he attacked Changkyun like that. Changkyun had left the apartment shortly after Jooheon’s outburst, and he hadn’t returned until quite late. Jooheon barely slept.

He sighs as he steps into the parking lot, looking for his car. His heart sinks when he sees Kihyun’s short figure leaning against the driver’s door of his car. 

One look at the snowboarder and Jooheon can tell he’s fuming. 

“I think what you said was so unnecessary, Jooheon,” Kihyun says coldly as Jooheon approaches.

“How did you find out? Did the baby tattle to mommy?” Jooheon says reflexively.

_CRACK!_

Jooheon’s face snaps to the side. 

His cheek starts to sting like he’s been burned. 

Had Kihyun just _hit_ him?

“Ow!” Jooheon yelps. “What the _hell_?”

“Don’t give me that. I know you struggle sometimes, but that does not give you an excuse to be a dick, Jooheon,” Kihyun seethes. “If what he told me you said is what you really said, then fuck that, Jooheon, that was _nasty_. And _so_ uncalled for. Calling him a pussy? Are you _joking_? You’ve got quite an array of personality traits, but I know that being an asshole for no reason is not one of them. So why the fuck do you keep acting like it is?”

Jooheon stares at Kihyun with a hand on his reddening cheek, a little stricken. 

“What did he tell you?” Jooheon asks breathlessly.

“Does it matter? Jesus, Jooheon, he called me in _tears_ ,” Kihyun bites. He throws his hands up in exasperation. “I just don’t understand, Jooheon. You would never speak like that to me or anyone on your team. You and I both know you are not like that. So why— _why?_ Explain it to me.”

“You know why, Kihyun,” Jooheon says weakly. “It’s like—instinct.”

He’s starting to get upset. He very rarely sees Kihyun this furious, and it’s weighing painfully on him to know that he’s the cause. His heart is also heavy with guilt, sinking to his stomach with the weight of regret. He knows he was out of line, speaking to Changkyun the way he had.

“That’s not a good enough answer for me anymore, Jooheon,” Kihyun says sharply. “I’m telling you right now I am not going to accept that from either of you. From this point forward, your stupid rivalry is not an excuse I’m going to hear. Rivalry or no, you had no right to talk to him like that.”

Jooheon swallows. The sun is burning the back of his neck; even in the wintery wonderland that Pyeongchang is, the summers are hard and Jooheon knows the warmth of June isn’t the only thing making this worse.

Kihyun looks him deeply in the eyes. The snowboarder is scary when he’s like this. “I know it’s hard for you to let your walls down around him, Jooheon, but I promise you—he is harmless. Being on a friendly basis with him isn’t going to kill you. Learning to respect each other is not going to kill you.”

“My dad will kill me if he knows I’m hanging with him,” Jooheon protests.

“Who cares what your dad thinks? Your dad isn’t here,” Kihyun snaps back. “And you’re an adult. I know he tried to make you afraid of the world, afraid of people—but that’s no way to live, Jooheon. I know you know that.”

Jooheon nods; he does know that. They’ve had this conversation before.

Kihyun puts a firm hand on Jooheon’s shoulder.

“He deserves an apology,” Kihyun says sharply. “The end of July will bring the ISU Challenger Series. This is a big year for Changkyun. He’s participating in the Autumn Classic in Canada, the Ice Challenge in Austria, and the Nebelhorn Trophy in Oberstdorf, but before those happen, his coach is holding a mock competition the last weekend in July. I’m going to watch, and you’re going to come with me.”

“Okay,” Jooheon says meekly. 

“You’re gonna learn to respect each other if it kills me, Jooheon, I swear,” Kihyun says seriously. “I’m not asking you to love him. I’m asking you to be kind. Why is that so hard?”

Jooheon doesn’t know.

* * *

Things are tense for a while following the hockey scrimmage. Jooheon doesn’t see Changkyun at any more scrimmages following the one he’d attended with Kihyun. Actually, for almost a month Jooheon doesn’t see him much at all. Jooheon sees him very fleetingly in between hockey practice and skating practice, and at night, when they’re both in the apartment, he hides himself away in his room. 

What Jooheon doesn’t understand is why this bothers him so much. He feels like he’s lost something he only had a very weak grip on. Staring at Changkyun’s closed bedroom door puts a heaviness on his shoulders.

He never formally apologizes. He’s too much of a coward to do that.

A week before the end of July, on the hottest day of the summer, Jooheon gets a text from Kihyun as he’s leaving his morning classes.

 **_Snowboarding Dude:_ ** _Changkyun is performing in the mock competition tonight. I’ll pick you up at four._

And he sighs. He’d had plans to hang out with Hoseok and Jungkook after hockey practice, but he knows Kihyun will probably literally kill him if he tries to get out of going.

 **_Hockey Dude:_ ** _Okay. How late should I expect this to go?_

 **_Snowboarding Dude:_ ** _Late. It’s a good thing it’s Friday._

Kihyun’s car swings into the parking lot of the apartment building at five to four, and Jooheon is surprised to open the passenger door to find Hoseok and Hyunwoo in the backseat of the car. One look at their faces and Jooheon can tell they’re not excited to be going either.

Jooheon is even more surprised to see the turnout at the rink when they pull into the parking lot of the arena. The parking lot is packed. He hadn’t realized the mock competitions were open to the public; Seunghyun never advertises their scrimmages. Of course, the hockey games that are played at the university’s rink are huge campus affairs; nearly everyone in the university comes to watch. He supposes since the skaters always have to travel for competitions, opening the rink to the public when they’re performing at home is only fair.

Upon walking into the rink, they’re pounced on by Minhyuk, who flat out ignores Hoseok, Hyunwoo and Jooheon. He talks animatedly to Kihyun about how excited he is that Kihyun is there, that he’s really excited to show him his routine, and other things that leave his mouth in an almost unintelligible flurry. He’s also dressed to perfection, in a white button down, black vest and red necktie. It must be his costume.

“Minhyuk!”

It’s Hyungwon, peeking out from the locker room. His expression darkens considerably upon seeing Jooheon, but he beckons Minhyuk inside. After waving goodbye to Kihyun and only Kihyun, Minhyuk bounds towards the locker room, his red blade guards click-clacking against the floor.

Kihyun leads them into the rink area and Jooheon is blown away at the number of people in the arena. They end up having to sit further back by the wall, away from the ice, in order to find space for all four of them to sit together. Within five minutes of them sitting down, the doors close, and the audience hushes as a voice comes over the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight to support our figure skaters,” the voice says, and Jooheon recognizes it as Jiyong, the figure skating coach. “Before we get started, I’d like to give a few honorable mentions. I’d first like to recognize Lee Gahyeon, our newest skater, for her accomplishments in the Korean Junior Nationals earlier this year. She received a silver medal for her second place finish and hopes to continue her successes in the senior division. Secondly, I’d like to recognize Lim Changkyun, our team captain, for being invited to participate in the ISU Challenger Series, where he will compete in Canada, Germany and Austria.”

The arena explodes into applause. 

“Without further ado, please allow me to begin the short program by welcoming our first performer to the ice, Lee Minhyuk!”

Minhyuk appears in the center of the rink as the audience bursts into cheers. From where he sits, Jooheon can see Korean flags and banners being waved in the audience. He can also see signs and slogans with Minhyuk’s name on them. 

Minhyuk skates to a song Jooheon doesn’t recognize. He’s told by Kihyun that it’s from the soundtrack of an American movie called the Addams Family, but that doesn’t mean anything to Jooheon. Seokmin is next, then Seonghwa, followed by Hyungwon, then Seungkwan. 

Jooheon notices, as Seungkwan is finishing his performance, that the skaters are seated by the ice barrier, cheering and watching just as animatedly as everyone else. Seungkwan has gotten up after every performance to throw a single rose onto the ice, and as he takes his final bow, the pink haired girl Jooheon doesn’t know tosses a rose from the bouquet at Seungkwan. He picks it up, grinning, and Jooheon notices that Changkyun is in the process of taking his blade guards off and talking to his coach.

“Is that normal?” Jooheon asks Kihyun under his breath, leaning over.

“Is what normal?” 

“All the skaters are watching each other,” Jooheon says, pointing at the bench where the skaters sit. 

“They don’t normally do that, no,” Kihyun says. “At least, they wouldn’t do that at a major competition.”

“So why are they doing it now?”

Kihyun shrugs. “I mean, why wouldn’t they?”

“Don’t they need to get themselves into the mindset to compete?”

“Well, I guess so, but not at this particular event. This is more of a show than an actual competition, Jooheon. They’re supporting each other.”

Jooheon hums. He doesn’t really get it, but he nods to appease Kihyun.

“And the last skater in the men’s short program, Lim Changkyun!”

Changkyun glides out onto the ice with all the grace in the world. He’s dressed in a white kimono-styled top, with a black obi around his waist. The white top has shimmering black and red sparkles and sequins that tendril from his left shoulder across his torso, and the hems of the sleeves are a deep red. It really is a stunning outfit, and he pulls it off better than Jooheon expected. He looks really good.

The music begins. It’s a piano and violin piece Jooheon doesn’t recognize. The first beats of the music are slow, then begin to crescendo. As the music picks up, Changkyun also gazes speed, and dances and spirals across the slick surface with such ease and poise Jooheon is absolutely enthralled. About a minute in, he does his first jump. Jooheon has no idea what the jump is.

“What was that?” he asks Kihyun quickly, applauding with the rest of the audience.

“Triple axel,” Kihyun informs him. “He’s the only one on the team who can do it successfully.”

Changkyun does another jump. Jooheon can’t even tell how many rotations he’s doing, what with how quickly the whole thing happens.

“And that?"

“A triple salchow.”

Changkyun’s final jump is actually two jumps—a combination, Jooheon has learned the term is—and it looks just as flawless as everything else he does. Jooheon glances expectantly at Kihyun.

“I’m not sure about that one, actually,” Kihyun says. “The first jump was either a flip or a lutz, but the second one was a toe loop.”

Changkyun leaps into a spin and after what feels like half a minute of just watching him spin, the music ends with a few sad chords, and Changkyun slides slowly on his knees, his arms stretched out towards the audience as if reaching for something he cannot grasp. At once, the crowd goes wild, clapping and yelling and calling Changkyun’s name.

“Wow,” Hoseok says quietly. It’s not so quiet that Jooheon misses it, though.

Seungkwan throws his remaining red rose onto the ice and as he stands and takes his bow, Changkyun picks it up with a smile. In a moment that has the crowd screeching, he puts the flower between his teeth as if he were about to tango. He smirks at the audience’s reaction and Jooheon pretends he hadn’t seen it.

The girls perform their short programs and after a fifteen minute intermission, the lights dim again and it’s time for the free skate. Kihyun had spent all fifteen minutes of the intermission explaining to Jooheon, Hyunwoo and Hoseok how skating competitions are set up: two programs plus an exhibition skate make for a very, very long night, and usually competitions take place over the course of three days. Jooheon has learned that it’s easier for him to understand all of this if he tries to put it into terms he knows: halftime, tournament, first half and second half, et cetera.

The girls go first for the free skate segment of the show. Yoohyeon skates to a song from _The Hobbit_ soundtrack, and Gahyeon, the pink haired girl, skates to _You Give Love A Bad Name_ by Bon Jovi. While Yoohyeon’s program was certainly enthralling, Gahyeon’s performance has the audience on its feet, clapping and singing along, and she’s wearing a black bodysuit with a black studded leather jacket. Jooheon is horrified to catch himself mouthing the lyrics, but in a fleeting moment he sees Hyunwoo and Kihyun and Hoseok enjoying themselves too, so he decides to give up his pride for three minutes and jam to the music as everyone else is.

The men’s free skate happens next. Seungkwan goes first, skating to a song that sounds like it popped out of an American movie from the 1920s, and Seokmin skates after him to a violin cover of part of the first movement of Beethoven’s _Moonlight Sonata_. Minhyuk follows with a performance to a song from _Harry Potter_ ; Jooheon is fairly sure the song Seonghwa skates to is the _James Bond_ theme, and Hyungwon skates after him to a Chopin medley. 

Changkyun is last, it appears. As Jiyong announces his name, he slides across the ice in a completely new costume. This one is black, and tight to his body. It highlights the muscles in his arms, which Jooheon hadn’t noticed before are actually quite toned and lean. The left sleeve of the costume is red and fades into black around the wrist, and similar patterns of black to red to white ombre across Changkyun’s torso, like some sparkly beast has come and raked its claws down Changkyun’s chest. The glitter and rhinestones on the shirt catch the light above, glimmering fantastically in the packed arena. He almost looks like a disco ball. Only much, much more attractive.

Changkyun’s free skate music is piano and violin again, only this is much faster and captivating in an entirely different way. From the very first keys, Changkyun is flying around the rink; his movements are sharp and clipped and precise and his first jump is totally flawless. Within the first twenty seconds of his program he has the entire arena eating out of the palm of his hand. Jooheon couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried.

At one point the music comes to a long crescendo, a full minute where the emotion and passion in Changkyun is almost physically palpable within the arena. Every movement is timed with a certain moment in the music. He leaps into his final spin sequence of the performance and by the time he’s finishing, the audience is standing again. The applause is thunderous in a way that is so different yet so similar to the wild stands of a hockey match. It makes Jooheon’s ears ring.

He’s just… floored. There’s no other word for it.

Changkyun’s performance marks the end of the night. Shortly after he takes his final bow the audience begins to disperse. Jooheon hangs in the building as long as he can, trying to catch a glimpse of the younger athlete, but Kihyun eventually drags him away and drops him off at his apartment.

He makes it home before Changkyun, of course. When he walks into the flat, the clock on the television reads 10:27 pm.

Jooheon lies awake until well into the late hours of the night, listening for the beeping of the electronic lock on the front door. He finally hears it slide open at a quarter to one in the morning, and then the familiar shuffling of Changkyun’s footsteps slink into the quiet apartment. Jooheon can hear him go straight down the hall to his bedroom; the door opens, then closes. Then there is only silence once again. 

And Jooheon sleeps.

* * *

Changkyun is still at home when Jooheon wakes up the next morning. The skaters typically have the rink to themselves on Saturday mornings, so Jooheon is used to being alone when waking up on the weekends. But Changkyun is sitting at the table in the living room, snacking from a plate of fruit and eggs while poring over a textbook.

If Changkyun had noticed Jooheon at the arena during the show, he doesn’t say anything. He makes no comment about the night at all, actually—but Jooheon has also learned to expect complete silence from him in the apartment anyway. He doesn’t acknowledge Jooheon’s presence at all. 

Briefly, Jooheon wonders if he should say something.

“Um,” he says, eloquently. 

Changkyun looks up slowly from the words in his textbook. "Yes...?"

“Congratulations, on, uh, being invited to that thing,” Jooheon says. “What did Jiyong call it?”

“The Challenger Series?” Changkyun says hesitantly, lifting his head a little further.

“Yeah,” Jooheon says with a slight smile. “What, er, what exactly is it?”

“It’s just a series of international competitions,” Changkyun says. His voice and expression are blank, betraying nothing. “I don’t know if you know what the Grand Prix series is, but it’s, like, below that.”

Jooheon doesn’t know what any of that means, but the word ‘international’ stands out to him the most, so he figures it must be pretty serious. 

“And it requires an invitation?” he asks.

Changkyun shakes his head. “Not really, no. You have to enter yourself into a competition. I was invited because the Korean Skating Union doesn’t have anyone to represent them at this point. We don’t have any Korean skaters on the international scale right now, so I was asked to represent.”

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” Jooheon asks. “I mean, there’s eight of you and _you_ were selected to compete. That’s pretty cool, right?”

Changkyun nods. “I mean, sure. I’m looking forward to it.”

“When, um, is the first competition?”

“I’ll start out in Canada in September, then Germany, then Austria in early October,” Changkyun says. 

“That’s really cool.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Awkward.

* * *

September comes too quickly and soon enough Changkyun is packing for his first competition. When Jooheon returns from practice the night before Changkyun leaves, he finds the figure skater on the floor in the living room, neatly placing folded articles of clothing in his suitcases, open in front of him on the floor. Jooheon notices that one suitcase is full of things like hair products and bottles of glitter and makeup. Underneath the supplies, folded up in dry-cleaning bags, are Changkyun’s costumes. The other suitcase seems to be full of athletic practice clothing and other toiletries.

“Where are your skates?” Jooheon asks.

Changkyun nods towards his closed bedroom door. “In there.”

Jooheon nods. Upon arriving at the rink for afternoon practice, he’d walked in on the figure skaters in the middle of something resembling a group hug. As Jooheon had made his way silently to the hockey side of the rink, he’d heard all of them (sans Changkyun) yell something that sounded like, “Changkyun, fighting!”

And his heart had stirred a little when he’d remembered that Changkyun is leaving tomorrow morning.

“When’s your flight?”

“Early,” Changkyun sighs. “Minhyuk is driving Jiyong and me to the airport at six in the morning.”

“Sheesh,” Jooheon mumbles.

Changkyun looks at him suddenly and Jooheon realizes with a jolt just how dark Changkyun’s eyes are. He’s wearing a soft-looking brown jumper over a white t-shirt and black pants, and the sleeves of the jumper fall over his hands. The lightness of his outfit is a beautiful contrast to his auburn hair and dark eyes and in the late afternoon sunlight, the whole setting just seems very… domestic.

_How have I never noticed how dark his eyes are?_

“Can you… never mind,” Changkyun says, then starts to stand up.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, never mind,” Changkyun waves him off, and then he closes the curtains on the balcony doors, blocking the sunlight. He turns a little pink when he realizes Jooheon is still watching him. “I was getting hot.”

Jooheon shrugs, trying to play off the way his heart is suddenly sprinting in his chest. Changkyun sits back down again, resuming his clothing folding, and Jooheon feels his mouth go dry.

“I’ll, uh, let you get to it then,” he says, then ducks into his bedroom and closes the door. 

In the back of his mind he can hear his dad’s voice like a broken record.

 _“No one in this world is as important as yourself, Jooheon,”_ he whispers. _“Protect yourself before protecting others.”_

And that’s the way Jooheon has lived his life. He’s kept walls around himself, no matter who he's hurt to keep them sturdy. Perhaps his father is wrong, but his father is damaged, and people who have suffered are never keen on going through it again, and Jooheon knows his father’s advice is only designed to protect him. 

But how can Jooheon guard his heart if it’s already bruised?

He can still hear Changkyun moving around in the living room and he hastily stuffs his earbuds into his ears before it can drive him crazy. He’s keen on pulling himself out of reality, if only for a little while. Behind a closed and locked door, he’s safer here than he is anywhere else.

* * *

Changkyun places second in the Autumn Classic. Jooheon finds out a week later when he walks into the rink for afternoon practice and the skaters have occupied the lobby for a little party, celebrating Changkyun’s victory. After practice, before he drives himself home, he sits in the driver's seat of his car, watching Changkyun’s performance on YouTube. He has fully captured the Korean public’s attention; there’s Naver articles about him circulating all over the internet. They call him a dark horse, an underdog.

Changkyun has added an element to his free skate, something the commentator calls a cantilever. It’s one of the coolest things Jooheon has ever seen him do. The image of Changkyun standing on the podium with the silver medallion around his neck is an image Jooheon files away in his head for the long term.

When Changkyun returns in the beginning of October, he has two silver medals and a bronze medal with him. The beginning of October marks the start of hockey season, so while Jooheon is fairly distracted with practice, he does make sure to congratulate Changkyun on his successes. He makes a remark about a skater he’d met in Austria that has both him and Jooheon doubled over in laughter at eleven at night in the kitchen of their apartment, and it’s only when Jooheon is lying in bed later that he realizes it’s the first time he’s ever heard Changkyun truly laugh. The melodic sound rings in his ears all night. 

* * *

A week after hockey season starts, just when the weather is starting to turn too cold to go outside without a jacket on, the heating system in the apartment breaks down and six whole levels of the complex are left without working air condition and heating. This makes the building pretty much unbearable to be in and even Changkyun can’t handle this kind of cold when he’s not exercising, so he takes his study materials to the rink and sits by the fireplace in the lobby. 

He can hear the hockey players practicing inside the rink area, 

“Oi, what’s Queen Elsa doing here?”

Changkyun looks up. Two hockey players he doesn’t recognize saunter into the lobby, filling the lobby with the nauseating stench of sweat. His heart sinks as he looks back towards his laptop screen.

“Didn’t Jooheon tell you the heating in our building is out?” Changkyun grumbles.

“Aww. Is it too cold for the ice princess to handle?” the other player jeers. 

Changkyun rolls his eyes but stays quiet, deciding not to justify the taunt with a response. The first player opens his mouth, probably to say something equally as insulting, but then the doors to the ice area open and another player comes into the lobby. He’s covered head to toe in his hockey gear, so Changkyun only recognizes him as Jooheon when he begins to speak.

“Yo,” he says flatly. “We’re still practicing. What are you doing out here?”

The two players look rather taken aback to be interrupted this way, because they both fumble slightly for a response.

“Queen Elsa is in the rink before his turn,” the second player says. Changkyun almost laughs, it’s such a lame response.

Jooheon does not seem impressed. “Okay. And? He’s not bothering us.”

Neither player seems able to come up with anything to say to that. Jooheon nods smugly and points towards the rink; they go back into the area with their tails between their legs like kicked dogs. Jooheon watches them go, but before he follows them, he glances back at Changkyun and gives him a brief nod. Then he vanishes back into the rink.

Relieved and also a little flattered for reasons unknown even to him, Changkyun lets his mind wander. He’s supposed to be studying, but his mind strays away and suddenly he’s skimming the Wikipedia page for hockey rules and regulations. He’d been meaning to do more research on the game, especially now that the season is in full swing, but he’d been so busy with school and the challenger series that he hadn’t had the time. He immerses himself in the text on the screen, even jots down some notes on the back of his maths worksheet.

_A substitution of an entire unit on the ice at once is called a line change. Teams typically employ alternate sets of forward lines and defensive pairings when short-handed or on a power play._

None of those words make any sense to Changkyun, but he doesn't get a chance to think about it before the double doors behind him bang open. Changkyun slams his laptop lid shut; the sound echoes louder than the door opening. He winces, hoping he didn’t accidentally crack his computer's screen and turns around to face the double doors to the rink. A stream of players pass him, stinking of sweat and ignoring him entirely, headed for the entrance to the lobby, apparently done with practice. Changkyun had no idea that much time has passed.

A moment later, Jooheon pokes his head around the door. He’s not wearing his hockey gear aside from his gloves and arm pads, but he’s sweating like the devil, and his chest is heaving as he catches his breath.

“Hey,” he says. “You good? AC still out?”

“Ye—um, yeah,” Changkyun fumbles, trying way too hard to look as casual as possible. “It is. That’s why I’m here. Just—finished with, uh, an assignment. Finally done, you—you know?”

Jooheon nods, inhaling deeply. “...Right. Uh, congrats on being done, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Changkyun says awkwardly.

“I have to go to the store,” Jooheon says as he pushes further into the lobby, pulling off his gloves and elbow pads. Changkyun watches him shuffle around, putting his hockey stuff away. “Do you need me to, like, get you anything while I’m there?”

“Oh, no, that’s—that’s okay,” Changkyun says. “I was planning on going tomorrow. I—um. Yeah. Thanks, though.”

“Okay,” Jooheon says easily. “See you.”

“Bye.”

And he heads out of the rink, following his friends, and then Changkyun is alone in the giant building. His fingers shake as they hover over the laptop lid. 

* * *

It takes a week, but then the AC and heating in the building is fixed. It comes just in time, too—mid October brings a serious cold front and the first snow of the winter season. This also means the slopes are open, and suddenly Changkyun sees much less of Kihyun than he had during the summer months. He makes it a point to come watch Kihyun practice. He wants to thank him for a lot of things: without Kihyun, he wouldn’t be on speaking terms with Jooheon. Changkyun isn’t quite ready yet to consider Jooheon a friend, but he’s definitely not an enemy anymore, and they both have Kihyun to blame for that.

He decides to ask Jooheon to join him to watch Kihyun’s practice. He knows Hyungwon and Minhyuk have also been keen on watching Kihyun practice for a while, so during the five minutes all the figure skaters and all the hockey players are in the building, Changkyun takes the opportunity to invite them with him.

“I’m planning to go to the slopes on Friday to watch Kihyun practice,” he says, finally having gathered everyone he wants: Jooheon, Hoseok, Hyunwoo, Minhyuk and Hyungwon. “I wanted to know if any of you would like to come with me.”

“I was also going to watch Ki’s practice,” Hyunwoo says. “Why don’t we all go?”

“Wait, like, all of us?” Hyungwon says skeptically. “All six of us?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay, am I missing something?” Hoseok asks bluntly, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, since when are we all friends?” Hyungwon looks at Changkyun as though he’s grown a third eye.

“We’re not,” Minhyuk clarifies. “But we’d be going to support a mutual friend. Unless I’m reading this wrong?”

Changkyun accidentally meets Jooheon’s gaze. He can’t read the hockey player’s expression.

“You’re not reading it wrong. I think that’s what Changkyun meant,” Hyunwoo says, and then everyone’s looking at Changkyun. “Right?”

“Definitely,” Changkyun says, swallowing. “Just... the six of us are going to support a mutual friend. Yeah.”

* * *

They meet at the slopes after everyone is done with their classes for the day, and they spend a good twenty minutes just looking for Kihyun. The snowboarding team isn’t very big—bigger than the skating team, but not as big as the hockey team or the ski team—and they, too, have a strict schedule on the slopes, so why they can’t find Kihyun is beyond Jooheon.

Hyunwoo is in the middle of dialing Kihyun’s phone number when—

“Oh, what are the odds I’d find you all here?” a voice says from behind them. “I was just about to call one of you.”

Taeyong, another snowboarder on Kihyun’s team, is walking towards them, his board tucked under his arm. His expression is a little tense.

“Where’s Kihyun?” Minhyuk asks instantly.

Taeyong heaves a sigh. “There’s, um, been an accident. Kihyun fell during practice. I don’t think it’s super serious, but our coach took him to the emergency room about twenty minutes ago.”

Jooheon’s heart drops.

* * *

They make it to the hospital on campus as a group of six. The receptionist in the emergency room looks up in slight horror at the mass of athletes headed her way, and Hyunwoo reaches her desk first, slightly out of breath.

“We’re here to visit someone,” he says. “Yoo Kihyun.”

“Room six, down the hall,” she says, pointing.

Kihyun is alone in the room, Jooheon realizes when they walk in. He’s awake and looks totally fine, but his leg is suspended in a splint and he’s scrolling through something on his phone screen. He looks up, bewildered, when all six of them pool into the room.

“How did you find out so quickly? I haven’t even texted Hyunwoo yet,” he asks, shocked.

“We wanted to surprise you at practice today, so we went to the slopes,” Hyunwoo explains, making a beeline for Kihyun’s bedside. “Taeyong told us you had an accident.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing, really,” Minhyuk says. “Only that you’d fallen, and he didn’t think it was serious but your coach brought you here.”

“I mean, it’s all true,” Kihyun says with a slight eye roll. “Coach Youngbae overreacted a little. The doctor thinks it’s just a sprain; I landed wrong on a backside one-eighty because I bailed. It was my fault.”

“Are you in pain?” Hyunwoo asks, petting his hair. Jooheon's chest tightens a little.

Kihyun shrugs. “I was earlier, but they gave me something and now I’m fine. It just looks bad; seriously, guys, I’m fine,” he adds, seeing the incredulous gazes at the splint his left foot is encased in.

“In that case, can I just bring up the elephant in the room?” Hoseok says shortly. “I mean, if no one's gonna talk about it then I will. What the hell are we all doing here? Have we all just forgotten about everything?”

Of course, they all know what he’s talking about. Jooheon can see Kihyun’s gaze darkening.

“I thought we made it clear we’re just supporting a mutual friend, Hoseok,” Minhyuk says, and there’s an undercurrent of warning in his tone that has Hoseok bristling. 

“Imagine being such a brute you can’t shove aside your masculinity for five minutes to worry if your friend is okay,” Hyungwon spits.

Hoseok glares at them with a gaze of venom, and looks to Hyunwoo and Jooheon to do something. Jooheon avoids his gaze by putting his head in his hands.

“Don’t look at me,” Hyunwoo says brazenly, putting his arms up. “This was Changkyun’s idea.”

Jooheon opens his mouth to defend Changkyun, but Kihyun beats him to it.

“You know,” Kihyun says loudly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “The worst part of being an outsider is the lack of involvement. It sucks, sometimes, that I’m not part of this mess, because it means I have to catch up on everything by myself, and I have to hear and decipher two sides of the same story just to figure out what really happened. But usually I’m also grateful I’m an outsider, because there are advantages to not being snagged in the tangle. The biggest upper hand I have, looking in from the outside, is that I can see things through an unbiased perspective. I can see things as they are. And this, this whole rivalry, as I see it? It’s pathetic.”

The words are sharp, which isn’t uncommon for the snowboarder, but this time they silence everyone. 

“I really had hoped that the two of you would get over yourselves,” Kihyun says, looking sharply at Changkyun and Jooheon. “I see now I was hoping all in vain.”

 _It wasn’t, though,_ Jooheon thinks to himself.

The thought surprises him. And it’s that moment that Jooheon realizes something that absolutely knocks the wind out of him.

He looks at Changkyun, sitting next to him with his auburn head cradled in his hands, and he realizes he’s in love.

* * *

Following the trip to the hospital, things between the hockey players and the figure skaters have gone from not terrible to abhorrent. And Jooheon has come to rely on Kihyun to help them sort out their issues, but this time he doesn’t think Kihyun will be willing to help. Kihyun has a right to be done with this, Jooheon thinks. For years it’s been his job to be a parent. He’s finally been pushed over the edge, and he’s going to make the two teams deal with it themselves. Jooheon is pretty impressed it took this long, if he’s being honest.

But he doesn’t think about it as much as he thinks about Changkyun. 

His earth-shattering epiphany in the hospital room that day has shaken him to his very core; he feels broken, like he doesn’t even know who he is or what’s happening in his life anymore. He feels like he’s lost his grip on the control he had; by being prickly and defensive and guarded he’s managed to protect his wounded heart and now he feels exposed, weak and defenseless and he has to get some level of control back before he loses his mind.

He finds himself struggling to breathe whenever he’s Changkyun’s proximity, which makes living with him so much harder than it had been before, even when they never spoke to each other. Changkyun, on the other hand, seems to desire to rekindle whatever growing friendship they’ve been forming, because he’s growing more and more talkative and Jooheon just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. This is the very thing his father taught him to be wary of and protect himself from but at the same time being in love has allowed the feeling of elation into his life and it’s a feeling Jooheon wishes would disappear and wishes he could keep forever. 

He’s never felt so confused and lost in his life.

On a chilly day in late October Changkyun joins Jooheon in the kitchen. By now, Jooheon knows Changkyun is aware something is going on; he’d either be incredibly naive or stupidly blind to not realize something is up. To his credit, though, Changkyun doesn’t say anything, gives Jooheon his space, and tries to act as though everything is normal. It’s something Jooheon is eternally grateful for, even if it’s not really working.

Changkyun hums quietly to himself, one earbud in his ear, as he pulls out some leafy greens and chopped chicken and begins placing the ingredients into a bowl.

“Salad?” Jooheon asks skeptically, trying to ignore how his brain is overanalyzing everything all at once. “Since when do you eat salad?”

“I don’t, really, but I’m starting a new diet,” Changkyun says, closing the lid of the salad bowl and shaking it to mix the contents.

Jooheon raises an eyebrow. “You’re on a diet.”

Changkyun nods. Jooheon looks him up and down. There’s no possible way he’s anywhere near overweight. In fact, he looks a little underweight to Jooheon, and he’s willing to bet that the slight thickness of Changkyun’s thighs is one hundred percent muscle, and his arms are toned through the athletic top he wears.

“Why are you dieting? I mean, you don’t look like you need to,” Jooheon says.

Changkyun shrugs. “I just want to keep my body healthy.”

Jooheon looks him up and down again. “You look pretty healthy to me.”

Changkyun smiles. “Thanks, but I’m not doing this to lose weight or anything.”

“Does figure skating really require dieting, though?” Jooheon asks. “Like, is it really a sport?”

He knows immediately he’s said the wrong thing.

Changkyun stops mixing the salad bowl and slowly turns to him, eyebrows furrowed. “You wanna try that again?”

“I’m just saying, there’s not as much athleticism in figure skating as there is in other sports.” Jooheon manages. He knows he’s burying himself deeper into the hole he’s just dug, but he can’t get his mouth to stop running.

Changkyun’s expression changes again. “Yes, because skating at full speed on a surface of pure ice with knives on my feet, stabbing said ice with said knives, launching myself into the air and rotating several times does not require any athleticism or muscles or a healthy body mass at all.”

Jooheon opens his mouth to defend himself, but Changkyun keeps talking.

“It’s _pathetic_ that you can’t appreciate other sports because you’re trying so hard to protect your fragile masculinity. You’re such an asshole, Jooheon. Why do you have to be such a prick all the time?” he snarls, fists clenched at his sides. “I thought that by being roommates, I might learn to better understand you, maybe get to know you, and learn why you’ve got a stick shoved so far up your ass. I was willing to give you a chance. I thought maybe there was some other side to you, something people don’t see, but you’ve insulted my friends, you’ve insulted my sport, you’ve insulted me _to my face,_ and now I realize you’re just _mean_. You’re mean, Jooheon, and I’m going to move out. I tried _so hard_ , Jooheon, to be nice to you. I tried so hard. I’m so tired of dealing with this. It’s just not worth it.”

“Changkyun, wait—I didn’t mean—”

He lunges for Changkyun and grabs his hand. Everything stops; they’re both looking at each other and Jooheon struggles to make words, staring Changkyun deeply in the eyes. He hopes Changkyun can read his gaze, will wait for him to apologize, but Changkyun’s dark eyes are cold and bitter and he pulls his warm hand out of Jooheon’s grip and vanishes. Jooheon stares after him, and the door to the apartment shuts loudly behind him. The electronic lock shoots into place and Jooheon feels like he’s been gutted, but it’s his hand that holds the knife.

* * *

Jooheon is done being afraid. He’s done being guarded. If this is his first heartbreak, then so be it, but he doesn’t want to live hiding anymore. He doesn’t want to hurt anymore. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.

He’s gay and he’s in love with Changkyun.

He decides instantly he has to apologize. 

After putting Changkyun’s half mixed salad bowl back in the refrigerator, he shrugs into his jacket and shoes and hurries to the rink because it’s Tuesday and the skaters have the rink in the afternoons on Tuesdays and he knows that’s where Changkyun will be. 

The lobby is empty as he walks inside and he pushes into the rink area. As he looks around the ice, he sees some of the ice skaters clustered around the stereo. As he moves closer to the rink’s edge, he suddenly meets Seungkwan’s stare all the way across the ice, and with a sigh, begins making his way over to the clump of skaters by the stereo. 

The only one he doesn’t see among them is Changkyun. Just his luck.

The skaters turn their attention to him as he approaches. He winces. None of them are looking at him with any sort of warmth or welcoming. Their gazes are just as cold as the ice they stand on.

“What are you doing here?” Seungkwan demands shortly. “You don’t have the ice for another three hours.”

“I’m looking for Changkyun,” Jooheon says tiredly. “Do you know where he is?”

“Why are _you_ looking for him?” Yoohyeon asks. Jooheon can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen the girl in a mood other than happy. Right now, she’s watching him distrustfully, and her tone is sharp.

“I said something I shouldn’t have said.” Jooheon sighs.

“Yeah, we heard,” Dokyeom bites. 

“I want to apologize to him.”

He’s met with silence. They’re all still staring at him with gazes that could melt metal, and he tries not to fidget. At last, Seonghwa nods her pink head towards the stairs. 

“Check the dance studio upstairs,” Seonghwa says crisply. 

“Thanks,” Jooheon mumbles, walking away.

“If you upset him again, I’ll castrate you with my car keys,” Seungkwan snaps.

The threat has Jooheon turning back around to face him in surprise. Seungkwan genuinely looks pissed. All of them do; with their arms folded across their chests and hands resting on their hips they look a little like a gang or a clique. Jooheon doesn’t know a lot about Changkyun’s friends, mainly because he hasn’t bothered to ask him about them, but their protective nature tells Jooheon that maybe, just maybe, the skaters are a family, too.

He climbs the stairs slowly, listening to the thud of his feet on the steps. His heart is starting to pound quickly enough to make him feel a little winded, and he pulls his jacket tighter around him as he reaches the second level of the rink.

When Jooheon enters the dance studio, he’s shocked to find Changkyun settled in a horrid looking stretch on a yoga mat unfolded on the floor, alone among the mirrors and ballet barres. Jooheon’s own legs ache at the sight. Changkyun, who has his earbuds stuffed in his ears, doesn’t notice him at first, folded neatly over himself. His phone is lying face up on the mat next to him, and as Jooheon cranes his neck to see better, he notices the screen is alight with a timer. 

For a long moment, it’s quiet as Jooheon pauses to decide how to proceed. The timer on Changkyun’s phone begins to chime, and Jooheon watches Changkyun sit up and tap on his phone screen, and pull his earbuds out. Jooheon takes the opportunity to clear his throat to get Changkyun’s attention. The figure skater startles terribly at the sudden noise and glances at the door.

Jooheon waves awkwardly. Changkyun’s eyes narrow. He clearly hadn’t expected Jooheon to follow him.

“What are you doing here?” Changkyun snaps coldly. “Isn’t this room too gay for you?”

Jooheon sighs. “I owe you an apology, Changkyun. For a lot of things.”

Changkyun looks at him silently, eyebrows furrowed. He slowly slides himself out of the ridiculous stretch. He turns away from Jooheon as he does so, but his gentle wince doesn’t get past Jooheon.

“Are you okay?” Jooheon asks, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Changkyun says shortly, standing up fully. He pulls both earbuds out of his ears and drops them onto the mat next to his phone.

He pauses and regards Jooheon with a careful look, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Go on, then,” he says expectantly.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Changkyun,” Jooheon says honestly. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I didn’t mean it. And… I’m not just talking about today, either.”

Changkyun stares at him. His expression is blank, guarded. Jooheon swallows.

He surprises himself by continuing to talk. “If there’s anything I’ve learned about you over the past few months, it’s that you’re… actually pretty cool. And you’re really good at what you do. So, even if we can’t be friends… just know that you have my respect.”

Changkyun contemplates for a moment, then opens his mouth. “Who said we can’t be friends?”

Jooheon pauses, waiting for him to elaborate.

Changkyun shifts, letting his arms hang at his sides. “Back at the beginning of the year, I… complained to Kihyun about you. Uh, a lot.”

Jooheon nods to himself. It’s fair. He doesn’t have a right to be upset because he’d done the same. 

“But he just wouldn’t hear it. He told me to get over myself, that things like this are petty and stupid… and that’s all true. But he also told me that it’s so _pointless_ , this rivalry between you and me, because we don’t even have a history. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I disliked you when we were first years because our teams hated each other. I didn’t even try to understand it—I just wanted so badly to _belong_ that I just went with it. Kihyun said we hate each other out of obligation. And I think it’s time we both realize he’s right, and get over it.”

Jooheon contemplates for a moment. He can vaguely recall Kihyun saying similar things to him. He remembers feeling the same way: the elation at having learned he’d been accepted to Starship because of his stellar hockey skills. He hadn’t even questioned it when Ilhoon, who had been the team captain when Jooheon was a first year, explained that they didn’t get along with the figure skaters. He, like Changkyun, had just gone along with it because that was what he’d been expected to do. 

It’s kind of pathetic, he thinks to himself morosely. There could be a great friendship between the hockey players and the skaters. Come to think of it, Jooheon doesn’t even know why there’s a rivalry. Now, he and Changkyun have a relationship akin to Romeo and Juliet—shamed, hidden, forbidden.

It’s just… sad. 

If God hadn’t woken up one morning and decided he was going to stick a figure skater and a hockey player in an apartment together, they wouldn’t be here right now, talking about this.

_Thanks, God._

Jooheon nods again, and as he does so he can physically feel tension in his shoulders loosen. He looks at Changkyun with a half smile, and wordlessly sticks out his hand.

Changkyun stares at his outstretched hand for a moment in surprise, then gives Jooheon a small smile, and shakes his hand.

“Friends?” Jooheon asks, tilting his head, even though he wants to be more than that.

Changkyun breathes a little laugh.

“Sure.”

* * *

November comes quickly and Jiyong pulls Changkyun aside after practice on a cold morning and tells him the headmaster is coming to the rink for an inspection.

“An inspection?” Changkyun repeats, surprised. “What for?”

“He wants to know if we really need two rinks,” Jiyong says. “You and I as well as Seunghyun and Jooheon have been asked to give him a tour of the arena. It probably won’t take long. I just need you to come back after your classes are done today. It’ll happen about a half hour after the hockey players are done with practice."

“Oh, okay,” Changkyun says. He’d had plans to get dinner with Minhyuk and Hyungwon later that night, but it seems they’ll have to go without him.

He tells them as such over text, and they offer to reschedule, but with exams and finals coming up later in the month, he doesn’t know when they’ll get another chance, so he tells them to go on without him. He returns to the rink after his classes are over for the day and arrives at a quarter to six. Everyone is already there, including Jooheon, who greets him with a small smile.

“Am I late?” Changkyun asks, bowing respectfully to Seunghyun and Headmaster Kim.

“Not at all,” Headmaster Kim says. He reaches out to shake Changkyun’s hand. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Jiyong leads the way into the rink. They give a brief tour of the lobby before heading into the west half of the building. Jiyong lets Changkyun take over guiding them through the area designated to the figure skaters. The area isn’t very big, considering there hasn’t been more than ten skaters on the team since the nineteen eighties, so Changkyun’s part of the tour is over fairly quickly. Seunghyun then leads them into the ice area, the biggest area of the rink, before handing the reins to Jooheon, who leads the party to the east wing.

“Over there are the locker rooms,” Jooheon says, pointing in the direction left of the rink. “We’ll get there in a minute. This room is the equipment room. We keep our pucks, spare hockey sticks, and things like spare mouth guards and neck guards.”

“Every athlete has their own equipment, though, am I correct?” Headmaster Kim asks as Jooheon enters the code on the lock on the door.

“Yeah, we do, but sometimes we need spare materials. This is where we keep it all,” Jooheon says.

Changkyun has never been anywhere in this half of the building. He’s pretty curious to see the equipment room. Once the door is open, Jooheon leads them down a short hallway that spills into a dimly-lit room.

Changkyun nearly slams into Jooheon’s back when he halts suddenly in the doorway.

“Hey, what—” he starts, then looks into the room, and stops dead. His breath leaves him in a gasp.

In front of him are his teammates, minus Minhyuk and Hyungwon, surrounded by parts of broken hockey sticks. There’s bits of lacquered wood all over the floor, and all five of the skaters are looking at Jooheon and Changkyun with varying degrees of horror and shock and panic written in their faces.

“What is it?” Seunghyun asks, then he and Jiyong step into the room. “Oh, my god…”

Headmaster Kim walks in as well. “What on earth…?”

For a moment, there’s only silence. No one knows what to say or do. Changkyun can feel the tears coming already. How is he going to explain this?

“Well,” Jooheon says tightly, looking at Seunghyun. “We were overdue for new sticks, anyway. No one uses wooden sticks anymore.”

Seunghyun glances at Jooheon in utter horror. His eyes are wide and his mouth is open in a gape. Jooheon forces a smile; Jiyong’s hands are at his mouth.

“Someone explain what’s happening here,” Headmaster Kim demands.

No one seems to be able to answer him. All of his teammates are petrified, frozen in fear and shock, and Jooheon is surveying the damage with something akin to sadness in his eyes.

The words leave his lips before Changkyun can even think about them.

“It was my idea,” he blurts.

And everyone’s looking at him now. He feels like he might crumble under the weight of everyone’s gazes.

“J-Jooheon… he, um, said something a few days ago that hurt me,” Changkyun says, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “I… decided to get revenge.”

Jooheon looks at him. The moment Changkyun looks back at him, stares into his eyes, he knows Jooheon doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t believe him at all.

He glances back at his teammates. Seungkwan looks like he might faint. Changkyun is too shocked to feel anything other than cold numbness. He isn’t even angry; he feels nothing but dread.

“I’ll, um, take whatever punishment is necessary,” Changkyun says.

He knows he’s done. Taking responsibility for this, even though he’s not responsible at all, will probably get him kicked off the team. He might not be able to skate here anymore. His stomach sinks at the idea that he might even have to go home. He swallows.

“There’s no way this was your idea,” Jooheon says suddenly, directing everyone’s attention to him. He’s shaking his head incredulously at Changkyun. “I refuse to believe that. You’d never do something like this.”

“He’s right!”

Everyone looks at Gahyeon. Her face is almost as pink as her hair.

“Headmaster, Jooheon is right. Ignore this idiot,” she says brashly, pointing one half of the broken hockey stick in her hand at Changkyun. “It wasn’t his idea at all. It was mine. It was all mine. He’s right; Jooheon did say something that hurt him, but… it was my idea to get revenge.”

“Then why would Changkyun-ssi take the blame?” Headmaster Kim asks.

“As the captain of the team, he’s been taught to take responsibility for the actions of the group as a whole,” Jiyong says softly, speaking for the first time in ten minutes. Changkyun has never seen the coach like this; he’s almost white in the face.

“Please, headmaster,” Gahyeon begs. “ _I_ deserve the punishment.”

“We all do,” Seonghwa puts in.

Seokmin nods, pointing at Changkyun with the toe of the hockey stick he’s holding. “ _He’s_ the only one who doesn’t. He wasn’t in on this at all."

Headmaster Kim instead looks at Changkyun.

“Are you in any way responsible for this?” he asks. “Be honest.”

Changkyun swallows again, then shakes his head.

Headmaster Kim nods sagely, turning again to survey the mess of wood. Yoohyeon is crying; Seungkwan doesn’t look too far away from doing the same. Everyone else just looks painfully guilty.

“I shall have to spend some time thinking about a proper punishment,” Headmaster Kim says softly. “But this has gone on long enough. I know neither side is completely faultless, so for now, both the figure skating team and the hockey team may consider themselves suspended until further notice. This rivalry cannot continue.”

He turns to Jooheon and Changkyun.

“You are both captains of the respective teams, yes?”

Changkyun and Jooheon nod simultaneously. Headmaster Kim looks at them disapprovingly.

“Come with me,” he says. 

Cold trepidation is all Changkyun can feel as he follows the headmaster out of the room and into the manager’s office of the rink. Traveling all the way across campus to the headmaster’s office seems unnecessary.

“Wait here for a moment, please,” Headmaster Kim says, allowing both boys into the room. “I’ll only be a minute.”

And then he’s gone. Changkyun is rooted to the spot he stands on, but Jooheon sits down in one of the chairs with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” Changkyun says, barely able to speak past the lump in his throat.

Jooheon sighs and shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. And you’re stupid for trying to take the blame. Don’t do that to yourself, okay? Please. Have a little self respect.”

Changkyun looks out the window to realize it's begun to snow. “I-I just want to protect my friends.”  
  
“They need to deal with the consequences of their own actions,” Jooheon says. “And Headmaster Kim is right. Neither of our teams are blameless. I’m going to give my team a good pep talk, too. If I’m still captain, I mean,” he adds with a little forced laugh.

Changkyun doesn’t humor his attempt to be funny. His mood is too low to even try to laugh. He’s genuinely worried that they’ll be stripped of their titles as captains. 

And the headmaster has every right to do so. He and Jooheon have not been the best captains by any stretch of the word. 

When the Headmaster comes back, he’s flanked by Jiyong and Seunghyun, as well as Seo Hyunjoo, the main manager of the rink.

“Well, boys,” the headmaster says, “it’s time we put an end to this.”

* * *

They go back to the apartment together. The train ride from the campus to their apartment isn’t long, but it’s spent in silence, so it’s quite tense and Changkyun is just exhausted. His limbs feel as though they’re made of lead as he follows Jooheon to the door. He shuts himself in his room as soon as he’s inside the flat, and lies down on his bed.

Part of him feels like he should do something, like call his parents. He hasn’t talked to them in a while. But his limbs are made of lead, and all he can do is stare at the ceiling above him.

He’s had his title of captain taken away. He hasn’t been kicked off the team, but both the hockey team and the figure skating team are facing three weeks of suspension. The rink will be closed until the end of November. The hockey team has been banned from playing in any games they were lined up for in November and the skating team won’t be allowed to make any appearances or compete until the holiday shows in December. 

Changkyun supposes the punishment could be worse. His mother always tells him to look on the positive side. He hasn’t lost his scholarship. He can still skate, technically. He supposes a worse punishment would involve his skates being taken, or his future access to the rink denied entirely. He’s lucky it’s only a three week suspension, and he should be relieved it’s only that long.

But he spent all three of his first years at university working for the title of Team Captain and just like that, in a single day, through no fault of his own, he’s lost it. Part of him wants to be angry, wants to be resentful of his teammates for going to such great lengths to have the last laugh, but—he just doesn’t have the energy. He feels like a drained battery, and even recharging seems like much too big of a task.

A knock on the door pulls him out of the storm cloud of his mind. 

“Yes?” he calls tiredly, wondering what Jooheon could want now. 

The door is gently pushed open. Jooheon stands in the threshold.

“Do you want anything to eat?” he asks softly.

The question is so innocent, but it’s asked with such tenderness—tenderness that reminds him of his mother, of home, and suddenly he’s in tears, and he turns away from Jooheon so the hockey star doesn’t see him as the mess he really is.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and Jooheon is pulling him into a seated position, and suddenly the hockey star’s arms are around Changkyun’s body and they cling to each other; they hold each other because they’ve both lost something and they’ve both been simultaneously guilty and guiltless and everything just seems so _stupid_ —

Jooheon’s lips are on Changkyun’s forehead.

He pushes away from Jooheon gently, confused and scared. “What are you doing?”

Jooheon looks at him. Changkyun is suddenly overcome with the fear that Jooheon is messing with him; it’s an open secret that Changkyun is gay, but it would be low even for Jooheon to mess with him like this. 

“Don’t play with me like that,” Changkyun spits, pushing away from him.

Jooheon grabs his hand. “I’m not, Changkyun. Hear me out.

“I know what happened today was just _so_ shitty, but—when you took the blame for Gahyeon without even _hesitating_ , I just—in that moment, I realized—I realized I’ll never be that brave. I will never be that selfless. And I’ll never deserve someone like you, Changkyun.” Jooheon says earnestly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try. And maybe it’s selfish of me to be thinking about myself right now, but I can try to be better. I can try to think of others before myself, but before I try that—just allow me to be selfish one more time. I like you, Changkyun, and I want you—I want you for myself. I want you to be mine. I don’t care if I have to lose hockey or drop out of school or whatever.”

Changkyun is speechless. Jooheon’s eyes are becoming red and glassy. 

“You have every right to reject me,” Jooheon says. “Because I have been a _real_ asshole to you. You never deserved anything I said to you, anything I did to you—and the stupid rivalry between our teams is just _so dumb_ —but I know what I feel for you is real, and I want you to know that. My whole life, I’ve been afraid to feel, afraid to get hurt—but I’m not afraid anymore.”

Changkyun gazes at him. 

“You _have_ been an asshole,” Changkyun says, startling himself. 

Jooheon looks at him in surprise. Changkyun feels himself smile.

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t forgive you.” Changkyun continues. “I know it’s dumb. I only wish we’d realized it sooner.”

And he doesn’t give Jooheon a chance to speak, for he kisses him gently on the lips.

Things won’t get better quickly. Changkyun knows that. The enmity between the hockey players and the figure skaters is deeply rooted in the university’s history and neither side are completely innocent. But he hopes that this will mark the beginning of the end, the beginning of a friendship. He and Jooheon will be graduating in about four months, and their lives will be totally different.

But at least they’ll have each other.

They pull away. Changkyun smiles.

Jooheon pecks him quickly on the lips.

“No homo, though,” Jooheon says boyishly.

Changkyun grins and shoves him away.

“Idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requests are still closed!
> 
> Also, I wrote the climax of this oneshot while listening to [Shattered by Trading Yesterday.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxVbZb44u0s) Highly recommend giving it a listen; it totally impacted the outcome of this story lol


	9. The Wars of the Ice Skates (HyungWonho)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyungwon and Hoseok are staunch supporters of rival skate brands.
> 
> 18.7k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combined request by Raein07 and monobonbon, who requested the HyungWonho get-together story. So, fun fact, I’ve actually been working on this for, like, a year. I had so many ideas and no way to string them all together, but I’m finally done and I am ridiculously proud of myself for how it turned out. This is canon with my AU! Happy reading!
> 
> Slight trigger warning for mentions of poor eating habits, eating disorders, and athletic injuries. 
> 
> Wonho's [Olympic Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YR5USHu6D6U&list=RDQMAyBVc5bQ6PQ&index=6) / [Olympic Costume](https://www.goldenskate.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/Boyang-JIN.jpg)

**_Off-season. July 2010._ **

“Wonho. Hoseok. Hyung. Get up. _Hoseok!_ ”

“I’m up, I’m up,” Hoseok bites, sitting upright in bed. 

Across the room, Minhyuk is making zombie noises, flopping around ungracefully under the covers of his bed. Hoseok blinks, struggling to see in the dark. The silhouette of someone, probably Kihyun, is bent over Hoseok’s bed. 

“What time is it?” Hoseok asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Four forty-five,” Kihyun whispers. “I let you both sleep in fifteen more minutes, but now it’s time to get up. Jiyong wants us on the ice at five thirty sharp, remember? Minhyuk, get up!"

“Dibs on the shower,” Minhyuk groans, then springs out of bed and hurries towards the single bathroom they all share. Hoseok sighs.

“What’s happening today? Why are we getting there so early?” Hoseok asks, still blinking himself out of the depths of sleep.

“The new kid is joining us,” Kihyun says. To no one’s surprise, he’s already cleaned up and showered and is slipping into a Nike t-shirt as he speaks. “Remember? Minhyuk stayed up last night watching some of his performances.”

“Right,” Hoseok says, even though he’d completely forgotten. He heads towards his drawer, pulls out a pair of track pants and a black t-shirt. Unlike Kihyun, he’s always preferred comfort over style, especially during long, early morning practice. 

It’s been almost two years since Hoseok met Kihyun and Minhyuk. In 2008, one of the greatest figure skaters the world had ever seen, Kwon Jiyong, had retired, leaving a legacy unlike any other. And he’d eloped with his secret lover, shaved off his iconic mullet, parked himself right in the middle of Seoul, partnered up with his longtime rival Kim Seokjin, and opened a training rink. Jiyong and Seokjin coach solely at the professional level. For nearly two years, Jiyong and Seokjin’s only pupils were Hoseok, Kihyun and Minhyuk. 

Today, someone new is joining them.

Chae Hyungwon, his name is. He’s seventeen, like Kihyun and Minhyuk. Hoseok doesn’t remember his exact birthdate, but he’s younger than Kihyun by about two months, so they’re all very close in age. As far as Hoseok is concerned, this Hyungwon boy will be making his senior debut under Jiyong’s guidance. Moving from the junior level to the senior level is daunting and scary as it is, but throw in the fact that he’s got an entirely new pair of coaches who use entirely new methods and Hoseok really has no idea what to expect from the new boy. He’ll either hit the ground running or he’ll crumble like a sack of potatoes.

Hoseok is currently working on his quadruple lutz; Kihyun has finally landed a quad flip and Minhyuk is trying to turn his fabulous triple toe loop into a quad. He wonders if the new kid has any quads. 

There’s a lot they’ve got to learn about the kid. 

* * *

They take the bus into the city and as they’re approaching the rink, the sun is rising, draping an orange blanket of light over the tips of the skyscrapers and buildings. The air is pleasantly warm, but Hoseok knows it’ll get hot later in the day. He checks the clock on his phone; it’s five twenty-three when they get inside the Seoul Magnolia. 

Hoseok sees him immediately. He’s already on the ice, warming up. Jiyong stands by the rink’s edge, watching him carefully. 

He’s tall. His hair is long and dark. His entire outfit is black; he dons a sleek black turtleneck and skating pants. He’s all alone on the huge sheet of ice, in the middle of a step sequence. He doesn’t seem to notice any of the three as they walk inside, too focused on what he’s doing.

“Oh, wow,” Kihyun mumbles under his breath.

Hoseok doesn’t get a chance to say anything because at that moment Jiyong looks over at them. He glances at the big red digital clock on the wall above the rink.

“You have six minutes to get your skates on and get on the ice,” he calls. A year or two ago, Hoseok would have been embarrassed at being called out, but Jiyong is kind of a grouch before he has his morning tea, and right now it’s too early for any of them to be totally awake. Jiyong’s morning moodiness doesn’t bother Hoseok much anymore.

The new boy, startled, stops and looks up at Jiyong, then his gaze slides to where Hoseok is standing. Hoseok is momentarily rendered speechless by the fact that Chae Hyungwon is striking. His hair, thick and ebony, frames his face in gentle waves; it’s long enough to be put into a bun. His eyes are black like the night. His lips are thick and his face is long, with high cheekbones and a curved nose. He’s gorgeous.

“Not you, Hyungwon, I’m talking to my other boys. Keep going,” Jiyong barks.

As Hyungwon continues through the step sequence, Kihyun drags Hoseok into the locker room. 

“You didn’t tell me our new rinkmate is a literal god,” Hoseok gripes at Minhyuk as the door swings shut behind him.

“I literally said last night that he’s really handsome!” Minhyuk protests. 

“What can he do? Did you tell us that as well?” Kihyun says, pulling his skates down from the top of his locker.

“I did. Clearly you two don’t listen to me.” Minhyuk pouts. He slips into his skates; the little Jackson logo on the heel of the black boot catches the lights from overhead. Minhyuk’s expression turns thoughtful as he laces up the skate. “I wonder what kind of boots he wears. Hopefully not Edeas.”

Kihyun glares at him and makes a big show out of putting on his Edea Concertos. Minhyuk grins cheekily.

“There’s nothing wrong with Edea boots and I will not open this topic for discussion,” Kihyun says shortly.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with Edeas. I’m just saying Jacksons are better.”

“And I said I will not argue about it.”

Hoseok grins, lacing up his own Jackson boots. “Who knows. Maybe the kid wears Risport, like Jiyong.”

“Or Riedell."

“Or Harlick.”

Kihyun and Hoseok scoff in unison, looking at Minhyuk.

“What is this, the nineteen-eighties?” Kihyun tugs his blade guards onto the blades and they click into place with a tinny _snap_.

“Seokjin wears Harlick.”

“Seokjin _wore_ Harlick,” Kihyun corrects. “He wears Edeas now. An intellectual. Glad to see he’s more with the times now.”

“I’m gonna tell Seokjin you called him old,” Minhyuk laughs, standing as he pulls his blade guards on.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me!”

Minhyuk turns and sprints out of the room. His blade guards click loudly against the floor. Kihyun follows him, shouting. Shaking his head, Hoseok follows the teenagers out into the ice area.

They join the new boy on the ice as soon as the clock hits five thirty. Hoseok sighs in relief as he places his water bottle and tissue box next to his blade guards on the lip of the wall, glad they’ve escaped conditioning. 

Jiyong beckons them towards him; he’s standing by the stereo with Hyungwon. Seokjin isn’t in yet, so Kihyun is safe for now, but Hoseok hadn’t been able to tell if Minhyuk was serious. 

“Morning, boys,” Jiyong says by way of greeting. “This is your new rinkmate, Chae Hyungwon.”

Hyungwon smiles shyly at them, his hands clasped in front of him, and bows politely. 

“Introductions? Are they necessary?” Jiyong asks Hyungwon, spreading his hands as he looks around at the boys.

Hyungwong shakes his head; his hair flops around his face. “I know who they are.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” Minhyuk says cheerfully. 

Hyungwon looks a little startled at Minhyuk’s jolly greeting, but he smiles wider. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“All right, boys, go warm up,” Jiyong orders. 

Hoseok typically spends between twenty and thirty minutes warming up, but he’s used to sharing the ice with two other boys and not three. It’s not exactly an issue, but the rink does feel a little smaller. 

Hoseok is fairly used to how Kihyun and Minhyuk practice. Kihyun is tiny, so his jumps are very fast and pretty high. Minhyuk, being taller and thinner, has to use his arms for assistance more than Kihyun and Hoseok do in order to get all the rotations, so his jumps can be quite big. Hoseok also has big jumps, but that’s mainly because he has more muscle mass than both Kihyun and Minhyuk combined. His leg muscles are enough to get him pretty high into the air. Hoseok has learned to account for all of this; he knows how to time his jumps and spins and other skills around them so there isn’t a collision.

But now there’s someone new he needs to learn about. He spends part of his warm up watching Hyungwon. The younger skater is very tall, taller than Minhyuk, and quite skinny. The first jump he throws is a triple flip. Instantly, Hoseok notices some similarities between Hyungwon’s jumps and Minhyuk’s. For starters, Hyungwon uses his arms quite a bit. Hoseok guesses it’s because he’s so lanky; there’s clearly not a lot of meat on Hyungwon’s bones and while being lighter does mean faster rotations, there needs to be an equal balance between height and muscle mass for optimum performance. 

Jiyong isn’t offering much correction or instruction, Hoseok notices. He’s probably taking the day to learn about Hyungwon and his mannerisms, how he skates, spins and jumps. He’d done the same when Hoseok had joined his rink, about three months after Kihyun and Minhyuk became his first pupils.

“Morning, everyone!”

It’s Seokjin. He’s walking towards the rink, holding two Caffé Bene cups, his skates already on his feet. His blades are gold, and sparkle brilliantly in the early morning light as he steps onto the ice.

“Kihyun called you old,” Minhyuk says, as the other coach skates towards them.

Seokjin, halfway through handing Jiyong one of the cups, looks at Minhyuk with wide eyes, baffled.

“Oh my god, no I didn’t!” Kihyun shouts. He skates over and skids to a stop beside Minhyuk, glaring at him. “We were talking about skates in the locker room and I made a comment about how you used to wear Harlick but wear Edeas now. All I said was you’re more modern with the Edeas.”

Seokjin glances down at his skates: they’re Edea Concertos, like Kihyun’s boots. He’s not skating competitively anymore, so the boots, which Hoseok is sure he’s had since they met, still look fairly new. 

“Harlick, Jackson and Risport were all they had when I was skating,” Seokjin says with a smile. “If they had Edeas when I was competing, you’d better believe I’d have worn them.”

Jiyong looks totally lost. He’s sipping silently from his cup, which Hoseok is fairly sure is actually tea and not coffee, glancing between the four of them.

“We were just joking around. Making fun of the fact that Kihyun is the only one here who competes in Edeas,” Hoseok explains. Jiyong nods quietly.

“I wear Edeas.”

All of them turn around. Hyungwon is there in his black turtleneck; his left sleeve is down, revealing two elastic bands on his wrist. He’s in the middle of using one of the elastics to pull his long hair back into a bun.

Hoseok glances down at his feet. Sure enough, he’s wearing gorgeous Edea Ice Flys.

Kihyun raises his fists in victory and sticks his tongue out at Minhyuk. “Ha!”

“Welcome to Team Edea!” Kihyun gives Hyungwon a high five. Hyungwon looks slightly bewildered, but he’s smiling. His dark eyes are wrinkled slightly at the corners.

“I wore Jacksons until I was about twelve,” Hyungwon says. “Then my coach put me in Edeas and I never looked back.”

“I had the same experience, only I started out in Risports,” Kihyun says. He seems very excited to have met Hyungwon now that he knows he supports Edea.

“I wish you’d kept the Risports,” Jiyong mutters into his tea. “They’re still my favorites. They’ll always be my favorites.”

“Minorities don’t get opinions,” Minhyuk teases.

Seokjin laughs his windshield wiper laugh and Jiyong glares at Minhyuk.

“Keep pushing it and you’ll be doing pushups until tomorrow morning,” he threatens good naturedly. “Go show me a triple toe.”

* * *

It’s Thursday, which means after their four hours of ice time they have two hours for ballet and off-ice workouts before they’re let go for the afternoon. They’ll return to the rink for another couple of hours of ice time, but in between eleven thirty in the morning and four in the afternoon, they have free time. Kihyun and Minhyuk are still in secondary school, albeit homeschool, so this period of the day for them is often spent doing schoolwork. Hoseok is taking online classes for university, so he also does schoolwork, but he also likes to go to the gym.

Today, though, he has to go grocery shopping. 

He’s been living with Minhyuk and Kihyun for over a year and the first week of every month, it’s Hoseok’s turn to go shopping. It’s not something Hoseok particularly enjoys doing, but he recognizes the importance and usually once it’s over with, he doesn’t have to worry about it again until the beginning of the next month. 

Being sponsored by many different Korean companies has its perks. They don’t live in a ratty apartment; their flat is small, but it fits their individual needs and they live together quite harmoniously, if Hoseok is being honest. Living together is just easier, anyway. Figure skating is something that, unfortunately, is still rather new in Korea. Korea doesn’t have many skaters on the senior scene yet, and that, of course, means companies are looking for other athletes for endorsements. He knows there are plenty of juniors working their way up, but until they make their individual senior debuts, Korea has Hoseok, Kihyun and Minhyuk to fall back on.

That’s why they have to find sponsors. If they appear in sports drink commercials or clothing commercials to bring attention to the sport of figure skating and endorse the company, they get paid, and Hoseok is glad to say his parents haven’t needed to support his lifestyle since he was seventeen himself. Hoseok has already done several endorsements for FILA, and Kihyun has been asked to appear in a few Nike commercials. Last month, Minhyuk endorsed Lotte’s new brand of milk chocolate and that was a huge bonus for Minhyuk’s income. Because of the fleeting but individual sponsorships and the fact that their parents all still pay for Jiyong and Seokjin’s coaching, he, Kihyun and Minhyuk live quite easily on their own. 

Besides, living alone is something Hoseok would never want to do. It would get too lonely. He’s a people person; he’ll live with Kihyun and Minhyuk as long as they’ll have him around.

He’s shocked to bump into Hyungwon at the grocery store. There’s a short woman with greying curly hair by his side, pushing a cart while Hyungwon reads from a list.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” Hyungwon says. He seems equally as surprised to see Hoseok as Hoseok is to see him. “Mom, this is Hoseok. He—”

“Oh, my goodness, I know who he is!” the woman fawns, grinning broadly.

“—trains with me,” Hyungwon finishes. Hoseok laughs awkwardly.

“He was in the FILA commercial that aired last weekend!” Hyungwon’s mother gushes. “Remember? The one where he took off the jacket and—”

“Yes, mom, I remember,” Hyungwon says. “He trains with Jiyong. Don’t you remember me telling you I’d be training with him?”

“Oh, yes!” the woman claps her hands excitedly. “Do you live by yourself? Perhaps you have some tips for Hyungwon! We just rented an apartment for him here in the city, he’ll be all alone—”

“Mom, please,” Hyungwon sighs. 

“Oh, where are you living?” Hoseok asks, genuinely curious. 

“The complex north of the rink, towards the border of Nowon-gu,” Hyungwon says, gesturing with his arm in the general direction of the apartment complex. “Do you live around here?”

“Yeah. Minhyuk, Kihyun and I live in an apartment east of the rink,” Hoseok explains. 

Hyungwon blinks in surprise. “You all live together?”

Hoseok nods. “We have for a while. We all met almost two years ago when we joined Jiyong’s rink. At the time, living together was more out of necessity than not. Now, we just live together because we’d get lonely if we didn’t.”

“How do you make money to stay there?” Hyungwon’s mother demands.

Hyungwon claps his hand to his forehead, clearly beyond embarrassed. Hoseok laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, sponsorships from different companies sure do help,” he says. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to get your name out there. As a professional athlete, you’ll find fairly quickly that sponsorships are pretty crucial to your income.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“He would be eternally grateful for that,” Hyungwon’s mother says boldly. “If it’s not a problem, of course.”

“No, not at all,” Hoseok says. This woman is a little strange. Hyungwon looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Excellent,” the woman claps her hands. “Come on then, Hyungwon, let’s finish our list.”

And she pushes the cart away without another word, humming cheerily as she wanders off. For a moment, Hyungwon and Hoseok stand there by the produce, alone, in awkward silence.

“Um, I’m really sorry about her,” Hyungwon says sheepishly. “She’s, er, worried about me living alone. Thinks I’m too young.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. Living alone is pretty daunting, I’m sure.” Hoseok waves off the apology. “If you want, I could give you our address. You’re welcome to come chill with us whenever you want.”

“Really?” Hyungwon asks in surprise. “Even though I’m a competitor of yours?”

“Kihyun and Minhyuk are my competitors, and I live with them,” Hoseok says. “I mean, sure, we’re competitive, but we’re more like a family when off the ice. You’re more than welcome to be part of that family. It’s just us four, after all.”

Hyungwon nods.

“Here, give me your phone number,” Hoseok says, pulling out his phone. “You can text me any time.”

“Thank you,” Hyungwon says quietly, taking Hoseok’s phone to enter his number. He gives the phone back with a gentle smile once done. As he hands the phone back, Hoseok notes how long and elegant his fingers are.

“Don’t mention it. Also, I meant what I said about sponsorships. From one athlete to another: they’re really important to your success,” Hoseok says seriously. “Jiyong will tell you the same thing. The sooner you can get your name out there, the better. There are some really big companies who will pay you a lot for your endorsements.”

“Noted,” Hyungwon says, nodding. “Thank you. I’ll see you at practice later, right?”

Hoseok smiles at him. “Absolutely.”

* * *

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Skate America — Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA. November 2010._ **

Hoseok nods along to the music playing through his headphones, slipping his blade guards onto his skates. The music is his best, sometimes only distraction from the crowd of people just beyond the curtain, waiting in anticipation for the second half of the free skate to begin. The six minute warm up had just ended, and the skater in sixth place, some Russian athlete whose name Hoseok can’t recall, is just about to take the ice.

After a successful short program, Hoseok is in second place. Hyungwon had also had a very nice, clean skate during the short program, and he’s in fourth place. 

Hoseok is fairly impressed, to be totally honest. It’s Hyungwon’s senior debut and he seems to be handling it extremely well. Hoseok remembers being so terrified he’d thrown up before taking the ice on his first senior free skate. 

They wait in the warm up room together. Hoseok, trying his best to relax a little, glances up when someone in his peripheral moves. It’s Hyungwon, and to Hoseok’s surprise, he actually looks a little miserable. He’s pacing the room, taking deep breaths. Hoseok can see his hands are visibly shaking.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, pulling one of the earbuds out. He’s no stranger to nerves before a competition. 

Hyungwon doesn’t answer right away. He takes a few more measured breaths.

“I’m fine,” he says.

This answer is particularly guarded. It couldn’t be more obvious he’s not fine.

“Yeah, that’s believable,” Hoseok says flatly. Hyungwon looks at him in surprise, and hesitates before answering.

“I don’t know why I’m so stressed out now,” he finally says. “I was totally fine before the short program.”

“It’s normal to be nervous,” Hoseok soothes. “Do you wanna come sit down?”

“No,” Hyungwon says.

Hoseok nods, having sort of expected that. He’s found Hyungwon to be a bit of a blunt person. “I find music helps me relax. What do you normally do before a competition to calm down?”

“Uh,” Hyungwon breathes with a shaky sigh. “I stretch. I try not to watch the other performances until it’s all over.”

“That’s fair,” Hoseok says. He’s the type to watch the performances as they happen, as is Minhyuk, but Hyungwon seems to be like Kihyun in that he feels better if he’s blissfully ignorant of the other skaters’ performances. 

“Do you have any specific foods you like to eat before a competition?” Hoseok asks. Talking to him casually like this seems to be calming him down; the tension in his shoulders has eased, just a little.

“I try not to eat anything the day of,” Hyungwon says. “I only drink water and drinks with electrolytes.”

“You don’t eat _anything?_ At all?”

“I try not to, no.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes. That’s not a particularly healthy way to approach a major competition. Hoseok, Kihyun and Minhyuk have been trained to eat a final meal no later than four hours before the start of a competition, and a small snack such as yogurt or fruit slices an hour to thirty minutes before their turn on the ice. Seokjin in particular is extremely attentive to the way they eat. If Seokjin or Jiyong find out, Hyungwon will probably be forced to make some changes to his eating habits. He wonders why Hyungwon’s former coach let him get away with that.

“Who was your former coach?” he asks.

“You’ve probably never heard of her.”

“What’s her name? Does Jiyong know her?”

“He does,” Hyungwon says. “Shin Yeseul.”

Hyungwon is right; Hoseok’s never heard that name in his life. But dietary restrictions are taken much more seriously in women’s skating, and if Hyungwon trained under the guidance of a woman for most of his life, it’s not unlikely that he picked up some rather questionable habits from her. 

The door opens, and Seokjin steps inside. His face is calm, but upon seeing him, Hyungwon’s expression drops.

“Ready, Hyungwon-ah?” 

Hyungwon swallows, and nods wordlessly. Seokjin gives him an encouraging smile, then leads him out of the room. 

“Good luck!” Hoseok calls after him.

There isn’t a response. Hoseok is left in silence again.

He waits a few minutes, texting Minhyuk, then turns to the television in the room and turns it on. It’s automatically on the channel broadcasting the competition, but because they’re in America, it’s all in English and Hoseok can’t understand a word the commentators are saying. He lets it play as background noise for a bit until he hears the American commentator butcher Hyungwon’s name, and looks up as Hyungwon takes the ice.

To his credit, Hyungwon has an excellent poker face. He’s already proven himself to be really good at hiding his anxiety, at least when it matters the most: showing a cool disposition is key to a clean performance. It seems that despite his young age, Hyungwon is already pretty good at being calm. Or, at least, pretending he’s calm.

The program is rough, unfortunately. It starts out okay—he lands his first jump combination, a triple lutz-triple toe loop, fairly cleanly, but underrotating his next jump, a triple axel, sends him sprawling onto the ice. Hoseok winces. Hyungwon falls on his triple loop, a jump Hoseok has only ever seen him land, and after a wobbly landing on his triple salchow, he goes down on the triple flip-double toe loop that follows. Hoseok’s not particularly surprised this is going as badly as it is—the transition from the junior level to the senior level is scary for everyone—but there’s no way Hyungwon will medal with a performance like this and Hoseok feels sorry for him in advance.

As expected, Hyungwon looks very disappointed when he comes off the ice. The camera can kind of pick up on Seokjin comforting him, but Hyungwon doesn’t even look at his score when it appears on the screen. Hoseok winces. He’s dropped to eighth place.

As the next skater takes the ice, an American skating on his home turf, the door to the warm up room opens and Hoseok fumbles to turn off the television. The screen turns black as Hyungwon steps into the room, winded, with Seokjin behind him. Hyungwon’s frustration is palpable in the air; he carries with him an aura of hostility. Hoseok shares a look with Seokjin, but Seokjin’s expression reveals nothing, and he shakes his head. 

“Are you ready?” Seokjin asks Hoseok.

Hoseok nods and stands, pulling his earbuds out of his ears. He’s about to leave Hyungwon alone, to wallow in his frustration for a little while, but as he’s following Seokjin out, Hyungwon begins to speak.

“Hyung,” he says.

“Me?” Hoseok turns to face him, lingering in the doorway. Hyungwon nods, looking at him.

“I know it probably doesn’t look like it, but talking to me so casually the way you did before I performed… it helped,” Hyungwon says. “It helped with the anxiety. So, um, thank you. Good luck.”

Hoseok smiles, a little taken aback. “You’re welcome, Hyungwon-ah. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s free skate goes flawlessly. He’s still not ready to try a quadruple lutz in competition, but his triple lutz is his strongest jump and the deep satisfaction that every landed jump brings is a feeling Hoseok will never get used to. He always surprises himself in competitions like these; competitions tend to make him emotional, and he can spot a few Korean flags in the audience as he takes his final bow. For some reason, the sight of the flags brings tears to his eyes. Seokjin laughs fondly as Hoseok skates his way over, all red and teary-eyed.

“Don’t cry yet, Wonho-yah,” Seokjin says warmly, bringing Hoseok into a hug. “The season is only just starting!”

His score of 179.35 sends him flying into first place, and he leaves America with a gold medal in his suitcase.

Unfortunately, after another rough performance at Rostelecom 2010, Hyungwon doesn’t qualify for the Grand Prix Final. Minhyuk doesn’t, either. Hoseok and Kihyun compete against each other in the Final in Turin, Italy, and Kihyun brings home a bronze medal, his first on the senior scene.

Something that has become fairly obvious to Hoseok throughout the beginning of the 2010-2011 season is that Hyungwon’s poor eating habits go beyond not eating at all before a competition. They’re worse than Hoseok thought. It’s no wonder Hyungwon is physically as thin as a stick.

When Hoseok had first joined Kihyun and Minhyuk under Jiyong’s coaching, the very first thing Jiyong had done was make sure Hoseok was eating properly. There hadn’t been much Jiyong needed to change, though; like Minhyuk, Hoseok had a fairly balanced diet. 

Kihyun, at the time, did not. Hoseok hopes that maybe Kihyun can help Hyungwon with his habits, too.

Something most fans of figure skating don’t realize is just how vicious the sport really is, especially at the international, professional level. Most competition is ruthless, the scoring system is flawed and corrupt, lots of coaches aren’t above bribery, and lots of athletes aren’t above cheating or sabotaging others. Jiyong is particularly thick skinned because of some of his experiences as a professional figure skater, and Seokjin has always tried his best to prepare the boys for what they might see or experience. 

“When I competed, I would go to banquet dinners with other skaters and watch them chew their food and spit it out to avoid taking in the calories.” Seokjin had told Hoseok once. “I’m telling you right now, that’s not something I’m going to let any of you do, okay? Eating right is a crucial aspect of this sport.”

For some reason, that story has always stuck with Hoseok. It’s not something that is particularly unbelievable, especially since he’s experienced something similar, too. He’d watched Kihyun come out of his shell once his eating got better. When they’d met for the first time, Kihyun had been tiny and thin, an ounce of what he could’ve been. Hoseok will never forget the transformation. Kihyun had been under one hundred pounds at age fifteen and Seokjin worked tirelessly with him to get to a place where he was comfortable with what he was eating and what his body looked like. 

So, Hoseok is not surprised that both Jiyong and Seokjin catch on extremely quickly to Hyungwon’s habits. Within two weeks of the Grand Prix series ending, Hoseok is passing by one of two dance studios after some ice time alone, and he overhears them talking to Hyungwon about a dietary plan that Seokjin has created for him. 

“I know this is daunting,” Seokjin is telling Hyungwon. “We’re going to help you.”

“Gaining weight is hard for me,” Hyungwon says. He sounds upset. “Everything I’ve tried to do hasn’t worked and my old coach thinks I’m better off this thin, anyway.”

“Your old coach is wrong,” Jiyong says gruffly. “I might ask you to go to the gym with Hoseok every now and again. You live by yourself, right?”

There’s a noise of affirmation from Hyungwon.

“Can we trust you to stick with this plan?”

It’s harsh, but it’s a legitimate question, and Hoseok knows Jiyong isn’t trying to be mean. A huge part of Kihyun’s body transformation was due to living with Hoseok and Minhyuk; they helped him stick with the diet Seokjin had created for him and Kihyun has verbally accredited his changes to Hoseok and Minhyuk’s encouragement. Changing diets isn’t something that is easy to do alone. 

Hoseok feels terrible for eavesdropping. He forces himself to walk away before he can hear Hyungwon’s answer, but as he ponders what he’d heard, alone in the locker room, he decides he’ll watch out for Hyungwon like he did Kihyun.

* * *

**_Korean Figure Skating Championships. January 2011._ **

The Grand Prix series had been rough for Hyungwon, but he shocks everyone by beating both Kihyun and Minhyuk at Korean Nationals in January of 2011. He stands on the second place podium, holding his first national medal, and Hoseok, in first place, is proud of him. He really is. 

Their hotel rooms in Uijeongbu are right next to each other, and as Hoseok lies in bed after the medal ceremony, he can vaguely hear Hyungwon talking to his parents over the phone. He can’t make out what the teenager is saying, but he sounds very emotional and Hoseok puts his earbuds in, just to give him a little bit more privacy.

* * *

**_March 2011._ **

A week or so after Nationals, Hyungwon turns eighteen. He’s like Kihyun and Minhyuk in that he’s in his final year of high school, but whereas Kihyun and Minhyuk are homeschooled, Hyungwon actually goes to school every day, and most of the time when he’s not at the rink, he’s doing schoolwork. He does schoolwork sometimes at the rink, too. 

They’ll all be graduating around the time of Hoseok’s twentieth birthday. Maybe they can turn it into one big celebration for all of them. None of the younger three are old enough to drink, unfortunately, but they’re not missing out on anything, in Hoseok’s opinion. He’s never been a fan of drinking. It isn’t like Jiyong appreciates it when he drinks, anyway. The coach is rather old school when it comes to certain things.

In addition to Hoseok’s birthday and high school graduation, March is a big month because that’s when the World Championships are hosted. And because Hoseok placed first, Hyungwon placed second, and Kihyun placed third in the Korean Nationals, they’ve all been selected to represent Korea in the WCs.

“World Championships in your first year as a senior,” Minhyuk says cheerfully, clapping Hyungwon on the back. “Congratulations! That’s a huge accomplishment.”

Hyungwon doesn’t appear to know what to say, so he smiles and nods graciously. Hoseok is glad to see Minhyuk is in a good mood. Hoseok had been worried Minhyuk was upset about not being selected to compete later in March, but Minhyuk had just shaken his head.

“Nah. I’m proud of him,” he’d said. “Just means I’ll have to work harder next season.”

After practice that day is over, Kihyun and Minhyuk leave a little early because it’s Minhyuk’s turn to go grocery shopping and he bullied Kihyun into going with him, under the promise that he’d go with Kihyun when it’s his turn. This leaves Hoseok and Hyungwon alone in the building after hours. He hums quietly to himself as he unlaces his skates.

A hiss of pain catches Hoseok’s attention. He glances up to see Hyungwon gingerly pulling his feet out of his boots. The black nylon socks he wears are ripped in several places, revealing Hyungwon’s bruised, blistered and callused skin.

Hyungwon stares at his feet wistfully, shoulders tensed. It’s clear to Hoseok his feet are killing him. Even the most padded, most comfortable ice skates will mangle a skater’s feet; Hoseok isn’t a stranger to blisters any less than Hyungwon.

“When you get home, fill your sink or bathtub with warm water and salt and put your feet in it,” Hoseok advises.

Hyungwon looks at him in surprise. “That sounds like it’ll hurt.”

“I’m not gonna lie, it’ll hurt like hell, but it’s good for disinfecting the blisters and it’ll numb the pain,” Hoseok continues. “And don’t wear socks to bed. Leave them uncovered.”

“I don’t trust people who wear socks to bed,” Hyungwon mumbles. 

He sounds good-natured, even though there are undercurrents of pain in his voice. Hoseok grins.

“I’ll just put some band-aids on and try my best.” Hyungwon says with a sigh.

“Band-aids don’t do anything for blisters, unfortunately. I have some moleskin tape if you want to put some on tomorrow. They’ll be so much better for your feet.”

Hyungwon gives him a smile that looks pained, but genuine. “Thanks, hyung. I appreciate the advice. I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Jiyong taught me that one,” Hoseok says. “When I first met him, I was wearing a pair of really old skates. Like, they were over three years old. He hated them because they were so broken down they were hurting my feet, but I couldn’t afford new ones right away, so we had to make do with them and find ways to deal with the damage. I have plenty of moleskin if you need it. All you have to do is ask.”

“We’re in the process of getting new skates,” Hyungwon says with a sigh. “Edeas are great, but they break down faster than Jacksons.”

“Because they’re more synthetic, right,” Hoseok nods. Hyungwon nods, too, staring at the Edeas in a heap on the floor next to him.

This is the same argument Minhyuk uses against Kihyun when they get into it about skate brands. Hoseok would never tell Kihyun or Minhyuk, but there was a period in his life when he’d worn Edeas, too. Granted, it hadn’t been very long, because he’d realized he preferred Jacksons fairly quickly, but combined with good blades, Edea boots are pretty much perfect. They’re incredibly lightweight, for starters. Lighter boots means higher jumps, more air time, better speed, faster acceleration. But because they’re designed to be super light, they’re made of incredibly synthetic material, and this causes them to break down very quickly, especially at the professional level, and are meant to be replaced often. Once Edeas are broken down, as Hoseok can see Hyungwon’s are now, they’re done. It’s not a good idea to skate in them if injury is to be avoided. Jackson boots are made with less synthetic material, so they don’t break down as quickly, but that of course means they’re heavier and require more strength to get proper height and speed.

It’s all about what one is willing to sacrifice.

Besides, the boots of a pair of skates don’t matter as much as the blades do. If Hoseok is being honest, he thinks the rivalry between Kihyun and Minhyuk on the basis of their boots is a little silly. The blades are what is more important. Some blades are designed for better jumps, others for better spins. 

Hoseok himself will stand by the brand MK, as will Jiyong. Minhyuk is a fierce supporter of John Wilson, while Kihyun and Seokjin prefer Paramount. It hits him then he’s never thought of asking Hyungwon what kind of blades he uses.

“What brand of blades do you use?” he asks.

“John Wilson,” Hyungwon replies easily, pulling his black soakers on over the blades. “I’ll stand by them.”

Hoseok smiles. “Don’t tell Minhyuk. He’ll be torn between loving you for your blades and hating you for your boots.”

Hyungwon laughs. “How about you?”

“MK.”

“Not bad,” Hyungwon says. “Not my favorite, but not bad.”

“You seem like the type to have tried everything out there,” Hoseok muses.

“It took a while to find the blades and boot combination I preferred the most,” Hyungwon says. “So yeah, you could say I’ve jumped around a lot. But I owe my triple axel and triple loop to John Wilson, so I think I’ll stick with them.”

“Fair enough,” Hoseok says as he stands and slides his own skates into the top shelf of his locker. “Try the hot water thing on your feet, okay? I promise, it helps a lot.”

“I’ll definitely try it, hyung. Thanks.”

Hoseok smiles as he stands, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hyungwon-ah.”

“Oh, and hyung?”

Hoseok, halfway out the door, stops to look at the younger athlete.

“Happy birthday.”

* * *

**_Off-season. Summer 2011._ **

The summer brings plenty more changes to Jiyong’s rink. In addition to building renovations, the total staff number grows from two to four when they welcome Min Yoongi to the coaching staff and employ a new dance choreographer. The choreographer, Jung Hoseok, age nineteen, is still in university, majoring in dance, and his personality is so bright and bubbly he gives Minhyuk, the rink’s self-proclaimed sunshine, a run for his money. Minhyuk, losing his mind over the fact that there’s _two_ Hoseoks in the building, gives the new choreographer the nickname J-hope, which sticks pretty quickly. And Yoongi, the 26 year old three-time World Champion who had retired last December due to a neck injury, brings a whole new level to the coaching methods of the rink. 

“Yoongi,” Minhyuk says seriously the day they meet him. “I have an important question to ask you.”

Yoongi meets his eyes curiously. “Hm?”

“What kind of skates do you wear?”

Kihyun groans; Hyungwon smirks. Hoseok stifles a laugh behind his hand. In his peripheral vision, Hoseok sees Jiyong roll his eyes.

Yoongi looks bewildered. He glances down at his feet. “Um… Jacksons.”

Minhyuk pumps his fist into the air. “Yes! One more for Team Jackson!” 

He turns and sticks his tongue out childishly at Kihyun, who feigns swinging a fist at him. Yoongi gives Jiyong a sideways glance, asking silently for an explanation. Yoongi is a man of few words, it seems.

“I guess you could say there’s a sort of rivalry between my boys,” Jiyong says with another eye roll. “They’re split between who wears Jackson boots and who wears Edea boots. With you on Team Jackson, they’re tied with three members each.”

“I see,” Yoongi says, chuckling a little. “And whose team do you belong to?”

Jiyong kicks his foot up onto the rink wall, showing off his black and gold Risport Royal Primes. “Risport, baby-y-y.”

Three weeks after Yoongi and J-hope’s arrival, Jiyong brings another dance choreographer into the team after telling the boys they’ll be gaining another new student. The second choreographer is a tall, physically imposing but incredibly soft spoken man named Son Hyunwoo. He’s friendly, albeit very quiet, and a talented dancer. Kihyun likes to think he’s not obvious, but Hoseok catches him on more than one occasion ogling over the handsome dancer. 

The first week of August, Kim Namjoon joins the rink. He’s younger than all of them at age sixteen, but he’s gangly and lean and rivals Hyungwon in height. 

He also wears Jacksons, as it turns out. Minhyuk is ecstatic.

Jiyong’s rink is growing. Hoseok looks upon all the changes very fondly: for almost two years the rink had been a bit of a lonely place. It had been Jiyong, Seokjin, and their three teenagers in a tiny, one story building with one bathroom, two run-down dance studios, and a pathetic stereo that would only take CDs and skip parts of the music or scratch the discs. Now, Jiyong and Seokjin are gaining the recognition they deserve as successful coaches, and the rink is getting proper attention. The summers aren’t as hot, the old stereo has been replaced with a much more modern device that has USB ports, two of the rooms now have working AC, and the rink feels like a second home to Hoseok now more than ever. 

Unfortunately, that’s when things with Hyungwon’s eating issues begin to spiral. 

A week or so after Namjoon joins them, they’re having group ballet lessons with Seokjin and Yoongi in the second dance studio (because that’s the one with working AC). The morning is peaceful, a little quiet because it’s still early, and the gentle music plays from Seokjin’s phone. Seokjin and Yoongi walk slowly around the room, surveying the boys with careful, scrutinizing eyes, murmuring soft instructions every now and again.

“Namjoon, point your toes.”

“Chin up, Hoseok.”

“Minhyuk, lift your arms higher.” 

“Bend your knees a bit more, Kihyun.”

“Five, six, se-ven, eight, and _up_ —”

And so on and so forth. Lessons like this are fairly enjoyable for Hoseok. It’s tranquil, a light way to begin the day.

About half an hour into the lesson, Hyungwon, who is standing in front of Hoseok on the same ballet barre, slips and falls and Hoseok gasps, barely manages to catch him before he can crumble to the floor. It’s only after he doesn’t get back up that Hoseok realizes he hasn’t fallen. 

He’s fainted. 

“Seokjin!” Hoseok yelps, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Seokjin crosses the room in a heartbeat; Yoongi stops the music and in a mere second everyone is crowded around Hyungwon, who is limp in Hoseok’s arms. Hoseok’s heart is pounding so loudly in his chest he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He’s not unused to anxiety, but this is different. This is fear—fear for his friend. This is terror.

Poor Namjoon, who has been at the rink for all of five days, is standing awkwardly off to the side. He looks a bit out of place, like he wants to help but isn’t sure how or if he should, and Seokjin turns to him calmly and asks him to retrieve Jiyong. Namjoon nods, looking a bit relieved at being told to do something, and hurries from the studio.

“He’s not running a fever,” Yoongi says, a hand on Hyungwon’s forehead. “But he’s white as a sheet. Minhyuk, go get his water bottle. Jiyong might want us to call an ambulance.”

Minhyuk vanishes from the room, looking a little faint himself, and he returns a brief moment later with Hyungwon’s water. Jiyong and Namjoon follow him in.

“What happened?” Jiyong demands. 

“He—he just fell, I don’t—I—” Hoseok stammers.

Seokjin places a calm hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Hoseok. He’s just passed out.”

“But why?” Minhyuk asks, his hand at his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Seokjin says grimly. 

“We should call an ambulance,” Yoongi says, looking at Jiyong.

Jiyong nods dourly. 

* * *

Hyperthyroidism.

That’s what the diagnosis is. 

When the ambulance had finally shown up, Hyungwon had been awake, and Jiyong had accompanied Hyungwon to the emergency room. Hoseok, Kihyun, Minhyuk and Namjoon had been instructed to keep practicing with Seokjin and Yoongi. The rink felt strangely empty the entire rest of the day.

At a quarter to four, they’d been in a group wind-down session in the same dance studio where Hyungwon had fainted when Yoongi got a call from Jiyong, explaining what the doctors decided on. 

“Hyperthyroidism is a condition when the thyroid, which is a gland in your neck, produces too much thyroxine,” Yoongi had explained after Jiyong hung up. “It’s a hormone that kicks your metabolism into overdrive. People who suffer from it tend to have a hard time gaining weight.”

So it isn’t Hyungwon’s fault at all that he’s been unable to maintain a healthy weight his whole life. 

Hoseok hangs off of every word Yoongi says. He’d never felt such serious fear the way he had when Hyungwon had been slack in his arms, sprawled gracelessly on the wooden dance floor. His blood had felt as cold as the ice he skates on every day. It had been unlike anything he’d ever felt before. 

“But he’ll be okay, right?” Hoseok asks.

Yoongi nods. “They’ll put him on medication that will calm the organ down. Jiyong wants to keep him off the ice for a few days, though. Through no fault of his own, he lost a lot of weight really suddenly, according to the doctor. It would be dangerous to allow him to practice right now.”

 _How_ had Hoseok not noticed that? Hoseok spends every day of his life with Hyungwon now. How did something like drastic weight loss go unnoticed?

“I noticed that,” Kihyun says quietly.

Everyone turns to look at him. He flushes a little. Hoseok figures Kihyun, of all people, _would_ have noticed. Kihyun knows what to look for. Kihyun can see things like dramatic weight loss and recognize it for what it is. Hoseok can’t. Not really. Not yet.

“I was planning to talk to him myself about it today,” Kihyun continues. “I just thought… I’ve struggled with weight too, so maybe I could reach him on a different level. I guess I was a little too late.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “This is no one’s fault, Kihyun. He told us he’s struggled with gaining weight and I know he’s been following the plan we made for him last year. But dysfunctional organs can be really unpredictable. He’s been dutiful with his diet. At least, I hope so,” he adds quietly.

Hoseok hopes so, too.

* * *

Jiyong requires that Hyungwon stay off the ice for the rest of the week following his collapse, to give him a chance to get used to the new medication and regain some of the weight he’d lost. The rink feels empty again without him. And the third day he’s gone, Hoseok can’t handle it. He’d been trying to contact Hyungwon via text, but Jiyong had restricted his screen time, too, just to get him to rest for once. Hoseok commends the coach’s efforts, but not being able to talk to Hyungwon is driving Hoseok a little insane.

So, after practice on the Thursday after Hyungwon’s incident, Hoseok takes the metro to Hyungwon’s apartment. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever been to Hyungwon’s flat. He prays he has the apartment number right.

He’d done some research on Hyungwon’s newly diagnosed condition and brought some things with him. As he knocks on the door of the flat he hopes is Hyungwon’s, he shifts the grocery bag in his grip.

When the door opens, Hoseok is both incredibly relieved that it’s Hyungwon who opens it and horrified at the sight of Hyungwon before him. If Minhyuk had called him a stick before, he’s nothing but a twig now. His shirt, long and baggy, hangs off his shoulders, which are bony and sharp. His arms, thinner than Hoseok has ever seen them, hang eerily at his sides.

“Oh, hi, hyung,” Hyungwon says. He sounds exhausted. “Did you need something?”

“Can I come in? I’ve brought you some things.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

But he lets Hoseok in, and Hoseok places the grocery bag of items on the dining room table. The apartment is pretty small, but since Hyungwon is living alone, he supposes it works for him.

“Sit down,” Hoseok gestures at the chair by the table as he begins taking things out of the bag. “I did some research. The internet told me the diet of someone who has hyperthyroidism should be low in—”

“Iodine,” Hyungwon finishes, nodding lethargically. He rests his chin in his hand, props his elbow on the table as he watches Hoseok forage through the bag. “Jiyong and I are working on it.”

“Oh, good,” Hoseok says. He pulls out a bag of non-iodized salt. “I can help with that.”

Hyungwon arches a tired eyebrow, looking at the bag of salt. “Can you?”

“I’m majoring in nutrition and wellness.”

Hyungwon looks at him in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

Hoseok smiles at him once everything he’d bought is all laid out on the table. Hyungwon looks at all of the food, which consists of hard-boiled eggs, various fresh fruits, dairy-free bread, a cluster of fresh bok choy, raw chicken, spinach, and a different brand of coffee than the one Hyungwon normally consumes.

“Hyung, you really didn’t have to do this,” Hyungwon says. He sits back in his chair, looking at Hoseok sadly. Hoseok’s heart clenches at the sight. “How can I repay you for this?”

“Take better care of yourself,” Hoseok says earnestly. He can feel his throat tightening with emotion and wills himself not to cry in front of Hyungwon. “I just—when you fell, I was so scared. I’d never felt fear like that before. It… it made me realize you’re someone I really need to be okay.”

He’s crying before he can give himself a chance to fight the tears.

Hyungwon looks both horrified and touched at the sight of Hoseok’s tears. “I didn’t mean to worry you, hyung.”

Hoseok reaches across the table and takes Hyungwon’s hand; it’s thin and bony. “I’m not saying you did it on purpose. But you’re a person before you’re an athlete, and you’re important to me. And Minhyuk and Kihyun and Jiyong and Seokjin. And I can help you, okay? We can help you. We know how to help.”

He’s not going to tell Hyungwon about Kihyun’s past issues, because that’s not his story to tell. But he needs Hyungwon to understand that even if they’re competitors, they’re still his friends.

“Kihyun came and visited me yesterday,” Hyungwon says. “He told me… he told me he used to struggle with his weight, too.”

Hoseok nods. 

“But this… isn’t really like that,” Hyungwon says, and he sounds a little choked up himself. “I mean, it’s not my fault. I can’t believe it took _eighteen years_ to get this diagnosis, because it’s always been a problem. My weight has always fluctuated unpredictably. I really was following the plan Seokjin and Jiyong made for me. I promise.”

Hoseok nods again. “I believe you, Hyungwon. All I’m saying is that this doesn’t have to be something you battle alone. We’re friends, and you’re important to us.”

“You’re important to me, too,” Hyungwon says. 

For a moment, it’s quiet. Their hands are still laced together and they’re looking at each other deeply. Hoseok notices Hyungwon’s eyes, dark and baggy, but still alive. His hair is slightly lank and limp, and his cheeks are a bit sunken, but he’s still alive. He’s still kicking and Hoseok can tell by the way he’s looking Hoseok firmly in the eyes that he’s ready to get back up and keep at it.

Hoseok’s heart sighs a little at the thought.

* * *

**October 2011.**

“What do you mean, you’re taking in three new students?”

“All at the same time?”

“And so soon before the Grand Prix series?”

“You all know fully well I don’t coach juniors,” Jiyong says, a bit impatiently. “And they’re all making their senior debut this year. Why not take them in now?”

“Are any of them going to be competing in the Grand Prix events?” Hoseok asks, still aghast.

“All of them will be,” Jiyong nods. 

“Okay, but it starts in literally ten days,” Minhyuk says incredulously.

“I know,” Jiyong says with a long sigh. “There was a timing miscommunication. All three of them have been referred to me by their coach, but they were referred months ago. I’ve had my eye on them for a while now.”

“Did they all come from the same coach?” Hyungwon asks, speaking up for the first time since Jiyong dropped the news.

Jiyong nods again. “Eun Jiwon. Heard of him?”

Kihyun and Minhyuk shake their heads; Hoseok shares a glance with Hyungwon, who shrugs.

“Oh, I know Jiwon!”

Namjoon. He’s a quiet fellow, but definitely skilled. He struggles a bit with flexibility, which Hoseok knows is something Yoongi has been working on with him, but he has an excellent flip jump that Hoseok is sure Jiyong will want to quadruple at some point. 

“I did a couple of training camps with him when I was younger. What are the names of the students you’re taking?” Namjoon asks. He’s generally more of a laid-back, thoughtful kind of person, but he’s brightened considerably at the idea of Eun Jiwon’s students joining him.

“Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Lee Jooheon.”

Judging by the dimpled grin that splits Namjoon’s face, he knows all three. Actually, now that Hoseok thinks about it, they sound familiar to him, too, though that’s likely because they’re still juniors. Well, they won’t be for much longer.

The very next Saturday, the new boys make their first appearances. There’s Park Jimin, sixteen, who is short and soft around the edges, but a strong and agile dancer with incredible step sequences. Kim Taehyung, who is the youngest at age fifteen, is tall and slender, a little strange, but notorious for his spins. And there’s Lee Jooheon, barely seventeen, who has dramatic dimples, a head of lovely black hair, and a pretty much flawless triple axel. 

There’s exactly six days before Skate America; Jiyong and Minhyuk are leaving for Las Vegas in three. They’ve had to install a set of five new lockers in the locker room and an additional bathroom on the second floor. Hoseok feels a little winded at all the sudden changes; new skaters, building renovations, and increasingly serious competition has made for a busy month, and it’s only the start of the competitive season. 

At least Hyungwon’s condition has improved greatly. The new medicine he’s on is helping him wonders. The color has returned to his cheeks and his hair is no longer sad and limp; his head is full of soft black locks and Hoseok is having trouble keeping himself from randomly reaching out to touch it. He’d confided in Kihyun about this newfound issue, but Kihyun had given him a flat, slightly bemused look.

“Don’t touch people’s hair without permission, Wonho,” he’d said, “that’s weird.”

“But it looks so soft!” Hoseok had whined.

Kihyun had scoffed. “Soft? Sure.”

At that moment, Hyungwon had walked into the room, looking for his hip pads.

“What’s soft?” Hyungwon had asked.

“Hoseok-hyung thinks you have soft hair,” Kihyun had said, ignoring Hoseok’s look of betrayal. “I think it looks greasy.”

He, of course, had been joking. Hyungwon had shot him a mock glare. “I’d be willing to bet my hair is softer than yours.”

And with a dramatic flip of said soft hair, he’d stalked from the locker room, his nose in the air. Kihyun had laughed, but Hoseok had stared after him, enthralled, and had chosen to ignore Kihyun’s arched eyebrow. 

Anyway.

It seems Namjoon is close friends with Jimin and Taehyung, because they quickly form an inseparable group of three. Minhyuk has taken a special liking to Jooheon, who Hoseok has to admit is incredibly cute. He’s powerful, though, and his triple axel is truly something magnificent.

So, Hoseok can only imagine how distraught Minhyuk is when he finds out that Jooheon is a fierce supporter of Edea boots. He gets the news in the form of a sarcastic text from Kihyun.

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _So Minhyuk found out that two of the new kids wear Edeas_

Hoseok grins at his phone screen.

 **_Wonho:_ ** _loool_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _Who?_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Jimin and Jooheon_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Apparently Taehyung wears Jacksons but Minhyuk has gotten pretty attached to Jooheon_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _He’s acting like Jooheon ruined his entire life_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _Are you both at home now?_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Yeah. I’m cooking. Minhyuk vanished as soon as we got home_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _I think he’s trying to drown himself in the shower_

Hoseok laughs. 

“What’s so funny?” Hyungwon jokingly demands as he walks into the locker room.

Hoseok smiles at him, putting his phone down as Hyungwon sits across from him on the bench. “Minhyuk found out Jooheon is on Team Edea.”

Hyungwon scoffs. He pulls off his blade guards and dries his wet blades off with his blade towel. “Another win for Team Edea.”

“Kihyun says Minhyuk is trying to drown himself in the shower.”

“Drama queen.”

“Indeed,” Hoseok laughs. He glances down at Hyungwon’s skates. His parents replaced the old boots back before his minor health crisis, but they’re already looking rather worse for wear. Hoseok looks down at his own skates; they’ll probably need to be replaced before Korean Nationals, he realizes with a sigh.

“Whats up?” Hyungwon asks, pulling his foot out of his boot.

“Just lamenting the fact that this sport is so expensive,” Hoseok says, sighing again. 

Hyungwon nods sagely. “I hear that.”

It’s quiet for a bit as they put away their belongings. Hoseok internally swears when he recognizes the subtle yet burning pain of a forming callus on his right heel. Maybe he can’t wait until Korean Nationals, after all.

“How are things going with your…” he asks, then trails off, not sure how Hyungwon would want him to address it.

“My disease?” Hyungwon says teasingly.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “It’s not a disease. I’m just checking in on you.”

“You don’t have to,” Hyungwon says. Hoseok swears that if he had a dollar for every time Hyungwon has said that to him, he’d be able to buy a new pair of skates without the help of his parents. “I’m doing fine, though. I appreciate you asking.”

Hoseok is glad to hear that. With Hyungwon, he can never tell. Though he’s softened a little over the months, he’s still a bit blunt, and has a hard time expressing himself. Hoseok appreciates any direct feedback.

“I just worry,” Hoseok says with a sigh, zipping his gym bag closed.

Hyungwon turns to look at Hoseok, and his gaze is uncharacteristically soft. There’s something in his gentle eyes and the tiny smile that has Hoseok’s heart skipping beats.

“I know,” Hyungwon says softly.

* * *

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Trophée Éric Bompard — Paris, France. November 2011._ **

As it turns out, none of the three new boys are able to compete in this Grand Prix series. Jiyong withdraws all three of them at the last moment at their individual requests. Hoseok doesn’t blame them for wanting more time to get to know their new coaches, but he’s not given much more time to think about it. The Trophée Éric Bompard 2011 approaches faster than he’s prepared for, and soon enough he’s alone on a plane to Paris.

Jiyong has finally managed to convince him to try his quadruple lutz during competition, but now Hoseok is regretting letting the coach persuade him. It’s not the only quad he has in his program, but he’s never landed it outside of practice. Never mind the fact that the lutzes he throws during practice are typically really good—he’s scared to death of performing it for the first time. The knowledge of it looms over him, kind of like a raincloud, and the flight to Paris is long and uncomfortable. He arrives at his hotel feeling unrested and stressed.

Jiyong is usually pretty good at helping Hoseok relax, since he knows what it’s like—but Jiyong won’t be in France for another few days, meaning Hoseok is by himself in the big city. 

He lies on his back on the bed, turns his head to look out the window at the darkening sky. It’s not the first time he’s been to Paris, but even now he can’t find it in him to take in the sights of the city with pleasure. He feels very isolated in this giant, foreign city; homesickness hits him like a kick to the stomach and he curses internally when his eyes start to grow hot.

His dad always told him he’s too emotional for a boy. 

“Men don’t cry,” he’d say, even as he held Hoseok through his tears. “Men get back up and try again.”

It’s horribly misogynistic advice, he knows, but sometimes it’s all Hoseok has had to get him through times like this. 

He’s about to get up and go do something, stop wallowing in his sadness and frustration, when his phone rings. To his surprise, Hyungwon’s name is alight on the screen. 

He answers before he knows what he’s doing, suddenly very eager to talk to the younger.

“Hyungwon?” he says. “What’s up?”

_“Did you make it to France okay?”_

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Hoseok says, bewildered. “Did you need something?”

 _“Nope,”_ Hyungwon says casually. _“Just checking in on you.”_

Checking in on him? Even Kihyun and Minhyuk don’t usually do that. He’d always chalked it up to them being busy with their own competition preparation, but he never realized how nice it feels to be checked on. For a moment, Hoseok is so caught off guard and touched that the tears he’d been fighting only moments earlier threaten to come back. It takes him a minute to swallow them down.

_“Hyung?”_

“I’m good,” he lies. “Just tired. Long flight.”

_“Get some rest before practice, okay? Don’t go out and, like, ruin your muscles on a piece of gym equipment.”_

“I will,” Hoseok says. “Or—I won’t. You know what I mean.”

Hyungwon chuckles gently. _“I’ll leave you alone, then.”_

“No,” Hoseok says suddenly, surprising himself. “Don’t.”

_“You okay?”_

“I’m okay,” Hoseok says, and it feels a little less like a lie. “Just—talk to me? It’s kind of lonely here.”

_“Sure, hyung.”_

And he does. Hyungwon talks more during that phone call than he does on a normal day. He talks about everything; he talks about his own training, about Kihyun’s terrific progress on his quadruple flip, about Minhyuk forgiving Jooheon for wearing Edeas and Jooheon disregarding the forgiveness. Apparently, Taehyung has gotten new skates, which has made for some funny moments Hoseok is sorry he’s missed. Hoseok has already realized that while he’s definitely friendly and funny, Taehyung is a little bit odd, in an endearing sort of way, so the story that Hyungwon tells about Taehyung breaking in his new skates has Hoseok rolling on the bed with laughter. 

Hyungwon doesn’t mention the quadruple lutz. He doesn’t mention Paris. He doesn’t mention the competition at all. Hoseok truly loves listening to Hyungwon’s voice. He’s grateful Hyungwon doesn’t say anything about the competition or the lutz or anything like that. For half an hour, Hoseok is able to escape the stress, the pressure he’s putting on himself, and just chat with his friend. 

It’s a very brief half an hour, but those thirty minutes are some of the most peaceful minutes of Hoseok’s life.

* * *

He falls on the quad lutz in both the short program and free skate, and while he is disappointed, he’s not exactly surprised. It was the same way when he was learning his triple axel; it took him months to be able to bring the confidence from practice into the competition.

“It’s okay,” Jiyong assures him, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ll try again in China.”

He’s exhausted, and can’t imagine trying to jump the lutz now, but he nods to appease his coach. In spite of the falls, he barely misses the podium, finishing fourth with a score that is less than five points below the person who finished third. This is more disappointing than not landing the lutzes, in his opinion: he’s a strong enough skater without a quad lutz to have medaled. But the competition is getting stronger: the Olympics are coming up in February of 2014, and Hoseok wants to be there. He wants to skate on Olympic ice.

That’s what each and every one of his competitors want. Some of them will never get it. Hoseok will make sure he will.

* * *

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Grand Prix Final — Barcelona, Spain. December 2011._ **

Despite a fall on the stupid quad lutz in his free skate in the Cup of China, he places third, and this total plus his score in France are enough to qualify him for the Grand Prix Final. He’s shocked, actually, and despite knowing he made it by the skin of his teeth, he lets himself rejoice in the victory. By the time the NHK Trophy takes place, the only skaters in Jiyong’s rink who have qualified for the GPF are himself, Namjoon, and Hyungwon.

Kihyun has had a particularly rough start to his season. It seems he hasn’t had as much luck with his quad flip, and is bitterly disappointed in his sixth place finish at Skate Canada and his eighth place finish in the NHK Trophy. Minhyuk had put up a valiant fight, but he was no match for the Russian giant who had sort of come out of nowhere. With a seventh place finish in Skate America and a fifth place finish in NHK, he doesn’t qualify for the Final, either. He’s similarly frustrated when he returns to Korea. Hoseok hasn’t seen him this exasperated about his results in a while. 

Hyungwon, on the other hand, is having a much better season than he had last year. He’d participated in both Skate Canada and Rostelecom, and medaled in both competitions: a bronze in Montreal and a silver in Moscow. Hoseok watches both performances online; he’d landed his first quad, a quadruple toe loop, and things had gone uphill from there. Hoseok is so proud of him. Hyungwon, because he is so extremely tall and thin, has a hard time with jumps. Being as tall as he is, his jumps are usually hit or miss. However, his dance and step sequences are works of art. He choreographs them himself, and he moves as though he’s liquid over the ice. The Canadian and Russian commentators both have kind words to say about Hyungwon’s fluid, graceful movements, and Hoseok is glad the kid is finally receiving the attention he deserves.

He meets Hyungwon in the airport in Barcelona; Hyungwon has flown in from Moscow and Hoseok and Jiyong have come from Chongqing. The next day, Seokjin flies in from Korea with Namjoon. By the time their plane touches down in Barcelona, Yoongi has safely returned to Seoul, and Hoseok, Namjoon and Hyungwon resume their training in the rink where the Final will be held.

In the Final, their biggest competition is a huge Russian skater named Valentin Ostrovsky. Before meeting Valentin, Hoseok had thought Hyungwon was tall. This kid, younger than both of them, _towers_ over Hyungwon at six-foot-three. Because he’s so tall, he really has to muscle his way into jumps, and his axels in particular are absolutely monstrous. In an odd way that Hoseok can’t really explain, he sort of reminds Hoseok of an anaconda, or some kind of python. 

As it turns out, he’s gotten a nickname already. The Europeans call him the Russian Snake. Hoseok isn’t sure who his coach is, but the kid is absolutely a snake. Hoseok didn’t even see him coming.

Valentin is even scarier when they’re sharing the ice. The athletes have four days to use the rink however they’d like in terms of practice before the competition and on the second day before the Final, Hoseok arrives at the rink to see the Russian already on the ice. Hoseok knows he’s big, but this kid sort of puts him to shame. He takes up too much space. Hoseok isn’t used to having to get out of the way when training with others. Plenty of Hoseok’s competitors from all over the world are rather pleasant. They know how and when to keep to themselves. 

This kid does not.

After a few rough practices, the competition is finally upon them. After the short program, he’s in third place. Namjoon is in seventh, and Hyungwon is in fifth. He’d had a rocky landing on his quad lutz in the short program, but he’d hung onto it, and Jiyong had congratulated him on landing it, but Hoseok won’t let himself celebrate until he lands it for real, with positive GOE to show for it. 

He feels good about the free skate. He stretches with Namjoon and Hyungwon in the warm up room before his turn on the ice. He watches on the television in the room as Namjoon skates—his free skate goes better than his short program, sending him into second place—and he warms up for six minutes with Hyungwon and the other four boys. He hides himself in his world of music as he waits; he learns Hyungwon is in first after he skates with a wonderful quadruple toe loop and triple axel-triple toe loop combination.

And then it’s his turn.

The music begins. He allows it to carry him away. He’s performed this routine God knows how many times. This is where it matters—this is where it counts.

He leaps into his quadruple lutz. One rotation, two, three, four. His foot touches down, and—he hangs on. He lands it. A huge smile fights its way onto his face; he knows the cameras and audience can see him mentally celebrating his victory but he doesn’t care, and he lets the elation of a well-landed jump and the cheerful music of his free program carry him to the end. 

The last keys of the melody ring in the arena and Hoseok throws his fists into the air in victory, grinning at the sky as the audience applauds. He glances around, fighting to catch his breath; he can see Jiyong and Seokjin clapping with the audience and he can easily spot Hyungwon with them. The tall skater is standing by the barrier, still clad in his violet costume, but there’s genuine glee on his face and the sight of him there, reveling in Hoseok’s win with him, brings tears to Hoseok’s eyes.

He leaves Barcelona with his first gold medal on the senior scene, and a new personal best to beat next season.

* * *

**_ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating, Grand Prix Final — Saint Petersburg, Russia. December 2012._ **

A week before the GPF of 2012, Hoseok, who is with Minhyuk and Jiyong in Saint Petersburg, gets a call from Hyungwon. Hyungwon had performed a couple of times in the brand new ISU Challenger Series and chose not to enter into the Grand Prix series, meaning he’s been at home watching the whole time. 

_“Hyunwoo broke his foot,”_ Hyungwon says as soon as Hoseok picks up the phone. 

Hoseok blinks in shock, rendered momentarily speechless. Across the room, Jiyong snaps his head around in horror.

“You’re joking,” he gasps. Minhyuk meets Hoseok’s gaze and shrugs, bewildered.

_“I’m not, coach. Kihyun took him to the emergency room. They just got back.”_

At this, Minhyuk’s expression changes, but Hoseok can’t read it. Jiyong groans loudly, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling of the hotel lobby.

“How?”

_“I don’t know. It’s only a minor fracture, apparently, but he’s supposed to keep off it for six weeks.”_

Jiyong closes his eyes. “Six weeks. I can’t believe it. It’s a good thing you all have programs to compete. Agh, but the new kid…”

“New kid?” 

“Who?”

_“What?”_

Jiyong glances at Hoseok and Minhyuk, and also the phone, because Hyungwon had heard it too.

“I was going to wait until we got back to tell you all, but we’ve got a new student coming in March,” he explains with a sigh.

“Again? Halfway into the season?” Minhyuk cocks his head.

Jiyong shrugs. “He’s supposed to come right before Worlds, but he’s not competing this year, as far as I’m aware. His mother told me he’s taking the year off because he’s moving here.”

 _“Who is he?”_ Hyungwon asks, listening attentively.

“His name is Lim Changkyun. He grew up in the States, so he skates for the USA, but now that he’s coming over here he’s going to skate for Korea as a senior.”

Hoseok doesn’t recognize the name, but that doesn’t surprise him. After thanking Hyungwon for the update, he hangs up, and turns to Jiyong and Minhyuk. Minhyuk is still wearing the expression that Hoseok can’t read, and Jiyong is clearly deep in thought. His eyes are hazy, indicating his mind is somewhere else. Hoseok decides to leave him be for a while.

“I wonder why Kihyun, of all people, took Hyunwoo to the hospital,” he says conversationally.

Minhyuk looks at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean, you wonder why? Are you blind, too?”

Hoseok blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Kihyun and Hyunwoo were obviously together when he broke his foot, so of course Kihyun would take him.”

“But if they were at the rink, why wouldn’t Yoongi or Seokjin go with him?”

“They weren’t at the rink,” Minhyuk says, as though it’s obvious.

Hoseok stares, not understanding this at all. Minhyuk stares right back at him, then groans.

“Why is everyone so stupid?” he bites out. “I guess you’ve been so busy being in love with Hyungwon that you’ve completely missed the fact that Kihyun and Hyunwoo are crushing on each other, too.”

Hoseok’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. 

“Woah, okay,” he says, holding his hands up. “There’s a lot to unpack there. _In love_ with Hyungwon? What are you talking about?”

Minhyuk begins to laugh, to Hoseok’s frustration. Minhyuk shakes his head. 

“You’re all ridiculous,” he giggles. 

Hoseok grabs at him, not in a joking mood. “Come on, Minhyuk, what do you mean?”

Minhyuk’s smile fades. “You really don’t have any idea?”

Hoseok looks at him, totally lost. Minhyuk sucks in a long breath.

“I can’t tell you who you love, Hoseok, only what I’ve observed. If you don’t like Hyungwon, then that’s okay. Maybe I read it wrong.”

“No,” Hoseok says. “No.”

“No, what?”

“You didn’t read it wrong,” he says, and his insides turn cold. He feels like Minhyuk has dumped a bucket of ice water down his back. “I think. I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

Minhyuk looks at him silently. His expression is passive, like he’s silently encouraging Hoseok to come to a decision.

Hoseok suddenly feels like he might cry.

* * *

His performance at the GPF isn’t great. He barely misses the podium, only two points behind third place, but he doesn’t feel like he deserved placing fourth; he feels like both his short program and free skate were rather lackluster in terms of emotion and power. He’d landed most of his jumps, of course, but when he performs he feels like he’s on fire, fueled by the energy of everyone watching him, unable to focus on anything else except nailing every skill. His short program and free skate at this year’s GPF, he feels, were rather dull.

Despite his fourth place finish, he doesn’t feel great about his performances in Saint Petersburg at all. At least Minhyuk medaled. Hoseok hopes the silver medal is a happy weight, not a heavy one. 

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I had known it was going to upset you, Hoseok,” Minhyuk says, cornering him in his hotel room the night after the gala.

“It isn’t your fault,” Hoseok says, but he can’t bring himself to look Minhyuk in the face. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“I feel like I put that weight on your shoulders,” Minhyuk says somberly. “And it cost you a medal. For that, I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Hoseok says again, then pauses. “I’m… glad you brought it to my attention.”

This is only partly true, but he’s not going to tell Minhyuk that. Maybe ignorance really is bliss. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to continue. He feels his whole world has been turned upside down.

“If you hadn’t, I would never have come to terms with it,” he says, facing Minhyuk. And he’s not lying. He hadn’t been able to recognize his own feelings until Minhyuk had said something. 

Minhyuk doesn’t look convinced.

* * *

**ISU World Championships — Helsinki, Finland. March 2013.**

Lim Changkyun arrives at the rink a week or so after Hoseok’s twenty-second birthday. He’s tiny. Strong, clearly, but so small, and so young. He’s only seventeen. He’s a child. 

And he instantly becomes Jiyong’s favorite because he wears Risport skates. That’s two for Team Risport.

He speaks perfect English, but Hoseok isn’t necessarily surprised—he did come from America, after all—but his voice is so deep and it doesn’t sound like it fits his small stature at all. And he’s not competing in the 2013-2014 season, because he’s in the process of changing his nationality, as Jiyong had explained. 

But that’s unimportant. What is important is that the World Championships are coming up. And a year and one month from now, the 2014 Olympics will be taking place. The WCs are crucial, especially with the upcoming Olympics, because it’s part of the selection criteria for the Olympic Games. Worlds will decide how many athletes each country will be allowed to bring, and the subsequent National Championships will decide who is going.

If there’s ever a time for Hoseok to get his head in the game, it’s now. 

This year, Hoseok has three quads in his routine: a toe loop, a salchow, and a lutz. Quadruple toe loops and salchows are the most common quads in men’s skating, so he can’t rely on them. He has to make sure he nails them, and the icing on the cake has to be a perfectly executed lutz. Those three jumps and his triple axel weigh heavily on his mind the entire week leading up to Worlds.

The World Championships are truly a fun experience, most of the time. The skaters who come from all over the world to be there do so because they love competing and they love skating, and these competitions are some of Hoseok’s most treasured memories. He’s surrounded by people who are different, yet similar, and even if he doesn’t talk to some of them much, they know of each other, and some of these people are skaters Hoseok has been competing against for years.

Mark Tuan, for example, is a good friend of his, as is Kunpimook Bhuwakul, aka BamBam, who skates for Thailand. Competing internationally has given Hoseok a chance to meet people he’d never meet otherwise.

After the short program, he’s the only Korean skater within the top six spots. He’s in first place, which means he’ll be skating dead last in the free skate. He has a long time to wait. 

Each country can only bring no more than three skaters to the World Championships, and the most recent Nationals had selected Namjoon and Minhyuk along with Hoseok to represent South Korea in Helsinki. After the short, Namjoon had been in seventh place, and Minhyuk had placed ninth. After a fabulous free skate, though, Minhyuk had flown into first place with a score higher than he’s ever had before. 

As Hoseok joins the other five men on the ice for the six minute warmup, he gazes around. He feels quite small on the huge sheet of ice. The other men in the second group include Mark Tuan of the USA, Jackson Wang of Hong Kong, a Japanese man whose name he doesn’t remember, a Polish skater who can’t be older than seventeen, and Valentin Ostrovsky, the Russian Snake.

Hoseok vaguely remembers training in the same rink as Ostrovsky during the 2011-2012 season and how much of a brute he’d seemed: unwilling to share the ice and eager to make his presence known. Hoseok had, at times, actually had to stop what he had been doing to avoid a collision. He hopes for both of their sakes that for six minutes, Ostrovsky can focus on himself.

“Show me a triple loop,” Jiyong instructs as Hoseok hands him his blade guards. 

Hoseok nods. He pushes off the wall, shaking out his arms and legs as if flicking off the nervousness. He takes a deep breath, then prepares for the jump; he curves around an unoccupied side of the rink and leaps into the jump, rotates once, twice, three times—

Just as he’s landing, a huge weight slams into his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. His right shoulder explodes in white hot pain that spikes all the way up his neck and down his right arm and he loses balance, goes sprawling on the ice. Over the ringing in his ears, he can hear horrified yells and gasps arise from the audience, and dazedly wonders what had just happened.

A huge hand extends towards him, and he looks up into the face of Valentin Ostrovsky, who Hoseok has finally concluded is the one who knocked him off his feet. Hoseok can’t even be bothered to take his hand. Valentin looks remarkably unapologetic and, physically, totally fine, as if he hadn’t just slammed all of his body weight into Hoseok. 

Hoseok can’t focus on any of that, because his right shoulder is _shrieking_ in agony. Something is wrong. 

He ignores Ostrovsky’s hand and stumbles almost blindly to his feet, clutching his right shoulder, which howls in pain every time he moves it. By the time he gets himself to the barrier, Jiyong is waiting by the open door. Hoseok can barely look at him, but he’s sure the coach’s expression is nothing short of horrified.

“Are you okay?” Jiyong demands as soon as Hoseok steps off the ice. There’s already medical personnel waiting with him. “Jesus—what hurts? How bad?”

“My shoulder,” Hoseok grits out. “Really bad.”

Voices come from left and right: some are familiar but most aren’t. Someone takes his uninjured arm and begins walking with him. He’s barely able to keep up with what’s happening as he’s led somewhere within the building. He likes to think he’s tough and years of figure skating has definitely built up his tolerance, but he’s never felt pain quite like this in his life. It’s white hot, like someone has pressed a branding stick to his shoulder, and the pain flows in waves up the right side of his neck and down his arm to the tips of his fingers. 

“Hoseok, can you hear me?”

It’s Jiyong. He sounds kind of far away. Hoseok grunts in response.

“Your shoulder is dislocated. They’re going to pop it back in, okay?”

Dislocated? That sounds bad. Hoseok makes another noncommittal noise, and he feels the coach’s gentle touch on his uninjured shoulder. Two sets of hands place themselves on his right shoulder but before he can tell whoever is there to back off, there’s an earsplitting pop and suddenly Hoseok can’t see, he’s in such agony.

He yells, unable to bite it back. Jiyong’s hand tightens on his left shoulder. Eventually the pain begins to fade, leaving only a mildly unpleasant tingling sensation. He slowly sits up, unaware he’d been hunched over, and now that he can feel things other than pain, realizes his face is wet with tears. Jiyong is staring at him in concern.

“Here,” he says, passing him a water bottle. “Drink.”

Hoseok obeys, a little winded. 

“How does it feel?” one of the medics asks.

“Better,” Hoseok says. Jiyong takes the water bottle as Hoseok moves his right shoulder gingerly. To his relief, he doesn’t feel much pain at all anymore. 

The door bangs open.

“Hoseok!”

It’s Minhyuk. He runs towards Hoseok, eyes wild with panic. 

“Are you okay?” Minhyuk demands. He sounds stricken. 

“I am now,” Hoseok says, sniffling a little. He gives Minhyuk a watery smile.

“I’d like to check your shoulder out a little bit more,” the same medic from earlier steps forward. “Is it alright if we take your costume off?”

Hoseok glances at the clock. “If we take it off now, I don’t think I’ll be able to get it back on in time to skate.”

That’s the annoying thing about his costume this year. It’s gorgeous, truly, but it’s tight on his body and takes a lot of time to get on and off. He has to be extremely careful with the fabric in order to avoid ripping it or pulling off any of the rhinestones.

Jiyong and Minhyuk look at him in disbelief. 

“You can’t possibly expect that I’m going to let you skate after that,” Jiyong admonishes.

Hoseok’s heart falls to his stomach. “But this is the World Championships—I can’t _not_ skate, Jiyong!”

Jiyong takes in a long breath.

“They’ve postponed the men’s free skate momentarily,” a new voice speaks up from the door.

Everyone turns to look. Hoseok recognizes the man as Cho Daewon, the only Korean judge in the panel of nine judges. He looks a little weary, but he smiles at Hoseok in greeting.

“One of the other skaters in the second group has come forward with some news,” Daewon continues, “he says he overheard Ostrovosky talking to his coach before the warmup. Thanks to this, we’ve come to the conclusion that the collision you’ve suffered was not an accident.”

Even Jiyong looks horrified.

“We have disqualified your Russian competitor,” the man says. “So, if you decide to go through with the competition, rest assured you won’t suffer another injury.”

At this, Hoseok turns to look at Jiyong again. “I have to skate, Jiyong. I want to. I’m totally fine now—I have to go through with this.”

Jiyong looks more apprehensive than Hoseok has ever seen him. “I don’t know, Hoseok…”

“Please, Jiyong,” Hoseok pleads.

Jiyong sighs, and rolls his neck in the way he often does when he’s stressed out. “Okay, but no exhibition. After the medal ceremony, I’m going to take you to the nearest hospital to get checked out.”

That’s disappointing, but it works for Hoseok. He nods gratefully. 

“Thank you,” he says graciously. Jiyong gives him a tight smile.

Hoseok has missed the last few minutes of the six minute warmup, but that’s okay because he has more time to get himself mentally prepared. He sits in a chair with an ice pack draped over his right shoulder, earbuds in to drown out the noise around him. At some point, Namjoon joins them in the room, and he and Minhyuk sit in front of the television, watching the other men in the second group perform their free skates.

Every time a jump is well landed or a program finishes, the entire arena rocks with the force of the cheers and applause from the audience. Hoseok can almost feel it in his stomach. He closes his eyes. Sweat is already dripping down his back. 

He dozes off very briefly. Someone touches his leg; he opens his eyes and Seokjin is there, looking at him.

“You’re on in three minutes,” he says kindly. Anxiety spikes through Hoseok’s stomach. 

“Good luck, hyung!” Minhyuk says warmly. Namjoon similarly gives him encouraging smiles. Hoseok tries his best to smile back before following Seokjin towards the ice.

Jiyong, still dressed in his black windbreaker, is waiting by the barrier when Hoseok steps onto the ice; he pulls off his blade guards and hands them to the coach, who takes his hand in a strong grip.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asks.

“Fine,” Hoseok says honestly.

“Good.” Jiyong says. “Remember, bring your arms through on the salchow. Knee through in the—”

“—Lutz,” Hoseok says, giving a wan smile. 

Jiyong nods firmly, then shakes Hoseok’s hand.

“Representing South Korea, please welcome Lee Hoseok!”

He skates to the center of the rink. He takes a deep breath. The music starts.

* * *

The day after the competition is over, they’re greeted at the airport by the rest of their team once they’ve returned to Korea. Kihyun, Hyungwon, Jooheon, Jimin, Taehyung, and Changkyun are all waiting, dressed inconspicuously, but holding a huge sheet of paper with Hoseok’s name, Minhyuk’s name, and Namjoon’s name printed in black ink.

Namjoon’s name has the number 5 printed beside it. There’s a bronze medallion drawn next to Minhyuk’s name. Just above Hoseok’s name, an elaborate picture of a gold medallion is drawn onto the paper.

“How’s your shoulder?” Hyungwon asks by way of greeting. He’s dressed smartly in a long coat and scarf. He looks expensive.

“Oh, it’s fine now,” Hoseok says, laughing a little. “No pain at all.”

Hyungwon smiles. “That’s good. Congratulations on your gold, hyung.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok grins.

Their eyes linger on each other a little longer than normal before Hoseok forces himself to look away.

* * *

**_Korean Figure Skating Championships. January 2014._ **

Most of the time, Nationals are rather fun for Hoseok. It’s a domestic competition, and he trains with over half of the people he competes against. The air is usually light and friendly once the competition begins, but this time, it’s different. There’s too much at stake now. The results of this competition will determine who goes to the Olympics. 

This time, there’s no room for friendship.

After the short program, the top six are Hyungwon, Hoseok, Minhyuk, Namjoon, Jooheon, and Jimin, in that order. The six minute warm up before the free skate is a little tense, actually; they all train under Jiyong, Seokjin, and Yoongi. They know each other like the backs of their hands.

Because they’re all coached by the same three men, Nationals is usually fair game, and celebrations are in order for whoever has the best night. This time, though, it means so much more. The top three will be the only ones to advance to the Olympics.

As the free skate commences, Hoseok joins Kihyun, Taehyung and Changkyun in the warm up room. Kihyun and Taehyung have already performed, and Changkyun, who hadn’t been eligible to compete at this year’s Nationals, had tagged along so he wouldn’t be alone in the rink and could provide some moral support. He gives Hoseok a warm smile as he sits down. Putting his earbuds into his ears, Hoseok offers a shaky smile in return.

He forages through his music library until he finds his free skate music. He listens deeply, going through some of the motions while sitting. Next to him, Kihyun, Taehyung and Changkyun are watching the performances as they happen. Hoseok usually likes to watch as well, but this time, he is too anxious to watch with them.

It seems the three of them have already resigned themselves to the knowledge that they won’t be going to the Olympics this time. Hoseok doesn’t know they can handle that. At this point, with how far he’s come, that realization would crush him. He’s never wanted anything as badly as he wants that Olympic gold medal. 

Through his earbuds, the chords of his music swell, and his chest tightens with emotion. If he makes the podium, he’ll be skating to this music on Olympic ice in a month’s time. He has to give this his everything.

A shadow passes in front of him. He slowly slides his eyes open to see Hyungwon pacing the room, earbuds in, stretching out his arms. His hair, fluffy and dark, falls in gentle waves down his face. In his dazzling black and white ombre costume, he looks as handsome as Hoseok has ever seen him.

Hoseok hadn’t had a chance to talk to Hyungwon at all in the few days before the competition. The last few months had been long. He’d ultimately come to terms with the fact that he is in love, but it had been a bitter pill to swallow, and he couldn’t have done it without Kihyun and Minhyuk. He’s never felt attraction the way he feels about Hyungwon. Growing up, he’d seldom been around other people his age; being homeschooled from a young age to focus primarily on skating left him without proper social skills. He doesn’t know how to navigate through this.

But he can’t think about that now.

Jiyong pokes his head into the room. When he makes eye contact with Hoseok, he nods. Hoseok takes a long breath and stands up, pulling his earbuds out.

“Good luck, hyung,” Taehyung says kindly.

“I believe in you!” Changkyun says with a fanged smile.

“Fighting, Hoseok!” Kihyun cheers.

Hoseok glances over his shoulder, smiling at them in thanks. He catches Hyungwon’s eye across the room. The tall skater is standing with his hands on his hips, and his chest is heaving gently in the way it does when he’s nervous, but he still gives Hoseok a softly encouraging smile that makes Hoseok’s heart beat faster. He’s just so beautiful.

“Please welcome to the ice, Lee Hoseok!”

The music he’s chosen isn’t something he’d normally consider skating to. Classical music isn’t exactly his favorite, but he’d found this particular piece while he and Kihyun had been searching for music together. They’d been listening to Tchaikovsky’s _The Nutcracker_ and Hoseok had fallen in love with it. He’d even edited and cut it himself. It’s one of his favorite programs he’s ever skated.

So, when the music begins, he does what he does best. He skates.

* * *

He’s crying when it’s over. He landed all of his jumps, even tacked a triple toe loop onto the end of his quadruple lutz. He feels like he’s on fire, like his blood is blazing with a flame only he can feel, and he takes his final bow to the thunderous applause of the arena, drinking in the sound of their cheers and screams.

His score of 207.12, coupled with his short program score of 101.23, throws him into first place with a total of 308.35. Namjoon is almost fifteen points below him.

The only one left to skate is Hyungwon. 

* * *

After the free skate has concluded, Hoseok cries again. He’s been sent to put his exhibition costume on and while doing so, he finds five minutes to himself in one of the bathrooms and lets himself fall apart. His tears are a mixture of pure elation and devastation, because he’s in first place. He’ll be the one wearing the gold medal, and he’ll be advancing to the Milan Olympics in February. 

Namjoon and Jimin, in second and third place respectively, will follow him.

Minhyuk had missed the podium by less than a point. Hyungwon had finished fifth. Hoseok almost feels like he doesn’t have a right to be as upset as he is, because he knows that Minhyuk is absolutely crushed. 

He hasn’t had a chance to see Hyungwon. He doesn’t know if he can face him.

He doesn’t know how to feel. He’d thought he’d feel over the moon, more exhilarated than he’s ever felt, because he made the _Olympic team_ —but his heart is broken for his friends who haven’t qualified and he doesn’t know if he can look them in the face ever again.

He still has the exhibition to perform. He’d been so excited to show Korea his newest gala program, since Jiyong hadn’t let him perform in the exhibition at Worlds, but he already knows he won’t make it through this gala without crying. 

He takes a deep breath when his phone, nestled in the bag with his exhibition costume, begins to vibrate. He fishes it out to see a text from Kihyun.

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Minhyuk has just taken the ice for his exhibition. You’re after him._

Hoseok bites his lip. He’s appreciative of Kihyun for keeping him updated. Kihyun has always been extremely attentive that way.

 **_Wonho:_ ** _Is he okay?_

It takes Kihyun a long minute to send a response.

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _No, he’s not_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _He’s crying even as he skates_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _But you know him. He’ll bounce back_

Hoseok doesn’t reply. He can’t. He just feels awful. And he hates feeling this way because he’s achieved one of his biggest goals, but his heart is too damn big. The idea of Minhyuk, in tears while performing the exhibition program he’d been so excited about, just crushes the pieces of Hoseok’s broken heart even further. 

Minhyuk’s gala skate is about four minutes long; he’s got three and a half minutes to change and get down to the ice. After changing costumes, fixing his hair, and making sure he doesn’t look too much of a mess, he leaves the bathroom. He makes it three steps into the hallway before walking right into Hyungwon.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—”

“Ah, hyung—I didn’t see you—”

And Hoseok stops dead because Hyungwon’s voice is trembling with tears. He’s never seen Hyungwon cry before and he can barely look him in the face. His eyes are red and puffy.

“Congratulations, hyung,” Hyungwon says.

“I’m so sorry, Hyungwon.”

The words leave his lips before he can think about them. 

Hyungwon gazes at him; his teary eyes are perplexed. “You’re _sorry?_ For what?”

Hoseok fumbles for a response, because he knows why he’s sorry but he can’t articulate it, and he bites his lip to stop the oncoming wave of tears. He shrugs, unable to make himself speak.

“Don’t apologize,” Hyungwon says earnestly. “You deserve to be on the team. I always knew it would be you. Minhyuk and Kihyun and the others, I wasn’t sure about, but you—I always knew it would be you. Why are you sorry?”

Hyungwon takes his hand, and his touch is electrifying; the contact sends a shockwave down Hoseok’s arm, and he grips Hyungwon’s hand back.

“I’m sorry because,” Hoseok manages, his voice tight with tears, “you won’t be in Milan, and I know how much you wanted to be. And I feel, I feel like I’ve taken something from you, even though I wanted it so badly myself.”

“You think I’m not going to Milan with you?” Hyungwon asks with a shaky laugh.

Hoseok blinks, unsure of what he means.

“Even if I didn’t make the team, I’m still going to go to support you,” Hyungwon says, and for the first time, he smiles. Tears are gushing out of his eyes, but he’s smiling at Hoseok like it’s the last time they’ll see each other. “You’re important to me. I wouldn’t miss that for anything. And, hyung—”

Hyungwon takes his other hand, and Hoseok unwittingly cries a little more. Hyungwon’s touch is so soft and warm and beautiful and Hoseok wants him to never let go.

“We all went into this knowing what could happen.” Hyungwon says seriously. “I suppose that’s the hard thing about being coached by the same men—we’re teammates, and when things like the Olympics come between us, it’s hard to choose between what we want for ourselves and what we want for each other. I know that if it were up to me, every single one of us, including Changkyun, would go to the Olympics. If I had it my way, that’s how it would go. But it’s not, and we all went into this knowing that. And that, hyung, _that’s not your fault._ You made the team because you deserve it. And I’m so _proud_ of you.”

Hoseok can’t focus on anything other than Hyungwon’s words and the way his hands feel in his. Hoseok’s hands are large and his fingers are thick and strong and Hyungwon’s hands are slender, his fingers are gracefully long and thin and Hoseok loves them. He loves him.

“Hyungwon,” he says, with a sudden burst of confidence. “I have to tell you something. It’s really important.”

Hyungwon gazes at him expectantly. There’s a hint of something that looks like hope in his wide, dark eyes.

“Yes?” he breathes.

“I—”

“Hoseok. Hyungwon.”

It’s Jiyong, and he looks terribly sorry for interrupting them, and his eyes soften even further when he registers both of them are crying.

“Minhyuk is almost through with his exhibition,” he says gently. 

Hoseok takes the hint, and reluctantly lets go of Hyungwon’s hands. The coach turns away and heads the other direction. Hoseok starts to follow him.

“Hyung,” Hyungwon says quietly.

Hoseok stops.

“What did you want to tell me?” 

_Not here,_ a little voice in his head tells him.

Hoseok turns back and smiles as best as he can when he feels like his heart is being clawed apart. “Later, okay? Not… not here. Not now.”

Hyungwon looks at him deeply, like he’s trying to decipher his expression, and then nods slowly. 

“Okay.”

When Hoseok approaches the ice, he’s shocked by the scene before him. Minhyuk is in Jiyong’s arms, crying into his black windbreaker. Jiyong isn’t a touchy person, especially not with the boys. Hoseok himself has never been hugged by the coach. Jiyong saves hugs for when they really need it. 

Right now, Minhyuk probably does really need it.

Jiyong strokes Minhyuk’s blonde hair, closing his eyes. It’s a terribly tender moment, and Hoseok feels like he’s intruding on something he was never meant to see. It dawns on Hoseok that this is hard for Jiyong, too. Three of his boys made the Olympic team and the other six didn’t. He’d known that would be the outcome. He’d known he’d celebrate with a few of them, and he’d known he’d have to pick up the pieces of the others. 

Minhyuk doesn’t let go of Jiyong as Hoseok passes, but they both manage to give him smiles. Hoseok almost feels like he doesn’t deserve that from either of them, but instead of beating himself up, he lets their encouragement give him strength. 

He’s exhausted. God, he’s so tired. But he has to get through one more performance, and then he’s done. He’s done until it matters.

He’s done until the Olympics.

* * *

**_Winter Olympic Games. Milan, Italy. February 2014._ **

Hoseok tries not to focus on how his heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He tries not to think about how, if he lands his quadruple lutz, he’ll be the first man to do so on Olympic ice. He tries not to think about the historic four quadruple jumps he has in his routine.

He turns to Jiyong and takes his hand. The coach looks at him with a smile, wearing his familiar black windbreaker and silver earrings. His hair, jet black and undercut, is gelled back.

“Knee through in the lutz,” he reminds Hoseok, as per usual. “Arms through in the salchow. Keep your chest and shoulders square in the axel. Think about it methodically.”

“Take it one step at a time,” Hoseok finishes. Jiyong smiles bigger, and shakes his hand firmly.

“Last in the free skate, representing the Republic of South Korea, please welcome Lee Hoseok!”

His costume, silk and gold and white, billows against his arms as he spreads them, welcoming the applause. Four minutes and sixteen seconds, and he’ll have made history. As he skates towards the center of the rink, his heart begins to calm; his body goes through the motions. He takes his starting position.

He’s gotten used to having to drown out the applause and cheers of the audience, because most of the time, they’re so loud he can barely hear his music over them, but this time, as soon as Tchaikovsky’s first chords play, everything vanishes. The people, the judges, Jiyong—everything is gone. Everything except him, the music, and the ice.

He feels the music in his lungs, in his veins, in his bones. He allows his body to tell a story, to breathe life into the music and let the ice give him power, give him energy.

He leaps into his quadruple lutz. He rotates once, twice, three times, four times. His skate touches down solidly on the ice. He lifts his arms. _Yes._

What follows is the best four minutes of his life. He feels it with every nerve in his body. He knows, he _knows_ , he’ll never forget what this is like, skating on Olympic ice. This is one experience that will stick with him forever.

When the music ends, he’s in tears, but of course he’d expected that from himself and he lets himself celebrate a routine well performed. It wasn’t just well performed, he realizes—he's skated like it was the last time he’d ever set foot on the ice again, and the outcome had been exactly how he wanted it: stellar, unforgettable, history-making. A performance worthy of a gold medal.

Jiyong greets him at the barrier of the ice, and as soon as Hoseok has pulled his guards on all the way, Jiyong tugs Hoseok into a tight hug. It’s so uncharacteristic and unexpected, and yet that’s what makes it so special. He lets himself go lax in Jiyong’s strong arms—but only for a short second, no more, no less. And he stands back up, and Jiyong hands him his Team Korea jacket.

Jiyong doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. He’s always been the type of person to convey what needs to be said through a facial expression, and all Hoseok can see on his face now is pride. Pride and happiness. 

As he joins Jiyong on the bench at the Kiss & Cry, sipping from a water bottle and taking measured breaths to prevent more tears, his mind drifts to Hyungwon. The six skaters who hadn’t made it to the Olympics had come to Milan anyway, to support Hoseok, Jimin and Namjoon. Hoseok wonders where Hyungwon is; he’s seated somewhere in this arena, but where? He’d watched, right?

He hopes he’d been able to convey to Hyungwon what he wants to say. There’s so much he wishes he could say to Hyungwon, but words won’t do it justice. He hopes Hyungwon could read between the lines, and see his performance for what it had been: a declaration of love.

“Lee Hoseok has earned, in the free program…”

They say sometimes silence can be loud, and the silence that follows is deafening. Hoseok doesn’t want to look at the screen.

The arena is cheering and screaming before Hoseok can even hear what the announcer says; he forces himself to stare at the empty box where his score will appear and sees the numbers 208.35. That, coupled with his short program score of 107.14, skyrockets him into first place with a total of 315.49.

“I’m in first?” Hoseok asks over the roaring of the audience, not quite able to believe it.

Jiyong nods, laughing. “You’re in first place!”

_“Really?”_

“Yes! You won!”

Jiyong is shouting too; he brings his hands up to high-five Hoseok but at the last second decides another hug is in order and this one is even briefer than the first but Hoseok doesn’t care because oh, God, he did it. 

* * *

Hoseok’s performance marks the end of the free skate, and all the skaters are sent “backstage” so the ice could be resurfaced in preparation for the medal ceremony. When Hoseok pushes the curtains back and steps into the long hallway, the first person he sees is Jimin, followed by Namjoon. They’re both wide eyed and grinning in glee, but before either of them can say anything, a door at the far end of the hall opens and suddenly Hyungwon is sprinting down the hallway towards them. He’s wearing a puffy black coat that falls to his knees, but he doesn’t let the length of the jacket stop him as he flies down the corridor.

“How did you get back here?” Hoseok asks, shocked, but then Hyungwon is on him—

—and his lips are on Hoseok’s.

Hoseok doesn’t feel fireworks or see sparks, but he loses focus on everything except the fact that Hyungwon is _kissing_ him—Hyungwon’s arms are around his neck and his lips are crushed against his, and the kiss is full of emotion. Hyungwon’s lips are soft, and in Hoseok’s mind’s eye he can see everyone watching them but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is Hyungwon.

“God, you don’t know how long I have wanted to do that,” Hyungwon says once they pull away, and he caresses his slender fingers over Hoseok’s cheeks.

“I’m glad one of us finally did it,” Hoseok says under his breath, and Hyungwon laughs melodiously. 

“Man, I’m glad, too,” Minhyuk’s boisterous voice carries down the hallway. He’s approaching with Kihyun and the others. “I was so tired of watching you two dance around each other.”

Jooheon and Changkyun laugh, but Kihyun elbows him sharply in the ribs.

“Ow! Don’t say you weren’t tired too,” Minhyuk groans. “It’s not like you have a right to talk, either—we all went through the same thing with you and Hyunwoo.”

“Shut up,” Kihyun snaps, red in the face. 

“I know you all want to have a heart-to-heart, and probably need to, but the medal ceremony is beginning in about three minutes,” Jiyong interjects. He looks a bit flushed, too, and Hoseok feels bad for subjecting the poor man to their stupid antics, but he’s so overwhelmed with happiness for so many reasons he can’t even think to apologize.

Hoseok turns to Hyungwon, opens his mouth to say something, but Hyungwon beats him to it.

“Go, it’s okay,” Hyungwon says, smiling warmly. “Go get your medal. We’ll be waiting.”

* * *

Hoseok contemplates a lot in the weeks following the Olympics. He turns twenty-three only a week after the Games are over, and decides not to compete in the upcoming World Championships. He and Hyungwon do plenty of talking. They discuss their futures, both together and in their sport. At only age twenty-one, Hyungwon is nowhere near ready to be done skating, but Hoseok very seriously considers retiring. An Olympic gold medal is the pinnacle of success in a sport such as this one, but Hyungwon is the one who convinces him to not retire.

“No. You can’t. I won’t let you,” Hyungwon had said firmly. “You’ve been twenty-three for, like, two weeks. You’re too young.”

“But there’s nothing else I need,” Hoseok had argued. “I’m satisfied.”

“You haven’t gotten gold in Four Continents,” Hyungwon had pointed out. “You’ve got a gold medal in every other major competition.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why stop now? You’ve got gold at the Junior Grand Prix, Junior Worlds, Senior Grand Prix, the World Championships, and the Olympic Games.” He’d listed them all off on his fingers. “If you get a gold at Four Continents, you’ll be the third skater in the world to achieve a Super Slam.”

Hoseok had opened his mouth to refute, but Hyungwon wouldn’t hear it.

“You’re not allowed to retire until you win at Four Continents,” Hyungwon had declared. “That’s the new rule.”

And Hoseok would have argued, because the decision to retire is his and no one else’s, but he’d just laughed and nodded.

“Deal,” he agrees. “And _you’re_ not allowed to retire until you medal at Worlds.”

“Make it gold, and you’re on,” Hyungwon had said cheekily.

Hoseok had laughed again, and kissed him on the crown of his head. 

“Deal.”

Hyungwon is right; they’re both so young. With those goals in mind, they have lots more time. Time to grow, time to learn. Time to love. 

An Olympic medal doesn’t mean it’s the end of the story for Hoseok. 

With Hyungwon by his side, it’s the only beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	10. Biting Ambition (HyungKyun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chae Hyungwon has had it all his whole life. Coming from a well off family, he's had things handed to him since he was born. His career as a professional figure skater is finally kicking off, now that he's won his first national title. That, of course, is when unknown underdog Lim Changkyun stumbles into his life.
> 
> 19.1k words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was requested by Kyunpremacist! Thank you so much for the dope request! HyungKyun is quickly becoming my favorite MX ship lolll 
> 
> [Changkyun's music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Dg-g7t2l4)
> 
> TW // slight homophobia, unsupportive parents
> 
> !!PLEASE READ THE NOTE AT THE BOTTOM!!

Hyungwon flinches sharply when his phone, face down on the desk next to his laptop, begins to vibrate. He’d been fully immersed in his schoolwork, and the phone’s vibrations shake the whole desk. He sighs, pulling his earbuds out when he sees his coach’s name alight on the screen. Pushing away from the desk slightly, he picks up the device and answers it.

“Seunghyun?”

_“Hey, Hyungwon. Do you have a minute?”_

On the other end of the line, his coach sounds like he might be outside. The rippling wind sounds loudly in Hyungwon’s ear; he holds the device a little bit away from his head to protect his poor eardrums.

“Yeah, I’m just catching up on some schoolwork. Is everything okay?”

 _“Well, not exactly,”_ Seunghyun says with a sigh, muffled by static. _“You and I are going to have to change training locations for the meantime.”_

Well, Hyungwon had been prepared for anything but this. Shocked into silence, he sits back in his chair, waiting for the coach to elaborate.

_“I was contacted by a couple of the managers at Taereung half an hour ago. Apparently, an electrical failure and some overdue building renovations have the rink shut down for at least a month.”_

“A _month_?”

_“Maybe more.”_

“You’re joking…”

 _“I wish I was,”_ Seunghyun sighs again. _“So, here’s what we’re gonna do. You know the university sort of southwest of here?”_

“Induk University?”

_“That’s the one. There’s a public ice rink on the campus, and I’ve contacted the owners of the rink to explain the situation. They agreed to let us use it from four a.m. to ten a.m.”_

God, that’s so early. Most of Hyungwon’s training times are during the evening or mid-morning, before and after his classes. Hyungwon puts his forehead in his free hand. “Right.”

_“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can do until the Taereung rink is fixed. Starting Monday, we’ll train there instead, okay? We can come up with a plan there.”_

“So should I just not come in tomorrow?”

_“No one can; the rink is shut down. Do some off ice and dance stuff, though. And prepare yourself for the commute to the new rink. It’s not far, but it’s on a university campus.”_

“What’s the public rink called?”

_“Induk Ice Castle. I was told the rink isn’t open to the public until ten, and closes at nine-thirty. The place is usually crawling with college students. We’re honestly pretty lucky we have a few hours to ourselves.”_

“I don’t know if lucky is the right word for this,” Hyungwon says sourly.

On the other end, Seunghyun sighs again. _“I know that this is unfortunate, but it’s not going to last forever. At least we’re not trying to practice for Nationals. We’ve still got a ways to go before Worlds.”_

Hyungwon glances at the gold medal hanging above his desk. He’d won the medal not even a week before at the 2017 South Korean National Championships.

“Fair enough,” Hyungwon relents. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you Monday, coach.”

_“See you then.”_

He hangs up. As he drops his phone onto the desk, he leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. The window next to his desk spills a neon orange glow across his apartment’s stark wooden floors. Leaning his head on the headrest of the desk chair, he looks out at the Nowon-gu city skyline. From his apartment on the fifteenth floor, he can see the roof of his home rink, the Taereung Training Center. The glass roof of the giant building glimmers brilliantly in the setting sunlight.

The sunlight catches the gold of the medallion suspended above his desk, sending a trembling burst of gold light flying up the wall and onto the ceiling. He heaves a sigh. He’s going to have to call his parents to tell them the news, and that’s a phone call he’s not looking forward to. After one of the best performances at Nationals he’s ever given, he’s finally managed to qualify for Worlds. His first time ever in his senior career. His career is finally kicking off; he’s going to the _World Championships_.

And now this?

“Unbelievable.” Hyungwon says to the empty bedroom.

* * *

“That’s unbelievable!”

“That’s what I said,” Hyungwon says grumpily into his coffee.

Across the table, Jooheon and Minhyuk stare at him with expressions of shock and pity. 

Jooheon scoffs. “ _Overdue renovations?_ You’re kidding, right? They waited until the building had a catastrophic meltdown before deciding to do something about it?”

Hyungwon shrugs. The fur lining of the hood of his coat brushes against his neck as he does so. It’s beyond him, too.

“Did you tell your parents?” Minhyuk asks, tilting his head. “I’m sure your dad could, _ehem,_ speed up the process.”

“I haven’t told them yet,” Hyungwon says, shaking his head. “And, yes, I’m sure he could, but he probably won’t want to. It’s not like Taereung is poor. They have the money to do the renovations and stuff.”

“Your dad is already paying the company a lot to sponsor you,” Jooheon points out. 

“True,” Hyungwon nods, “but my point is they don’t need his endorsements for the renovations.”

Jooheon relents, sipping from his drink. “So where are you going to practice?”

“A public rink at the university.”

“Our university?”

“No, the one southwest of here. Induk University.”

“Induk is, like, twenty minutes from our campus,” Minhyuk says. 

Hyungwon hadn’t known that. He, Minhyuk and Jooheon are students at Kwangwoon University in Nowon-gu, Seoul. The Taereung Training Center is about half an hour away by train. He’d had no idea Induk is so close to them.

“Seunghyun told me there’s a public rink,” Hyungwon says. “Called the Induk Ice Castle. It’s on the college campus.”

“ _On_ the campus?” Minhyuk repeats, incredulous.

“Public,” Jooheon grimaces. 

“You can say that again,” Hyungwon says. It’s been years since he’s had to practice in a public building. He’s been training in a private arena with Seunghyun since he was fourteen.

“You won’t be trying to practice while it’s open to the public, right?” Minhyuk asks.

“No, but that means I’ll be practicing at some stupidly early time in the morning,” Hyungwon laments. “So my sleep and school schedule are going to suffer, at least for a little while.”

“Talk about a happy birthday present,” Jooheon says with a wince.

Up until Jooheon mentioned it, Hyungwon had totally forgotten his twentieth birthday is in a week. Hyungwon shrugs. “At least I’m going to Worlds.”

“Damn right you are,” Minhyuk grins. 

He holds up his coffee cup; Jooheon and Hyungwon “clinks” their own cups against Minhyuk’s.

* * *

Hyungwon meets Seunghyun at the doors of the Induk Ice Castle on Monday at four in the morning, hours before the sun will wake the city. He’d woken up at three thirty so as to not miss the train, and he can tell that waking up that early is not something he’s going to get used to. He’s still blinking sleep from his eyes as he follows Seunghyun into the rink. 

The arena is a two-story building. From the front doors, he sees a sort of terrace behind a wall of glass; the terrace, furnished with cushioned benches and hand warming stations, hangs over the ice. The lobby, a wide platform at ground level, boxed in by glass windows, overlooks part of the ice, which is a wide sheet of white ice dug into the ground. To the left of the glass windows overlooking the ice is an empty receptionist’s desk, and further down the left hallway are a set of doors to rooms Hyungwon can only assume are offices. To his immediate right, near the glass-lined terrace, is a set of stairs. A wide white sign with a red arrow pointing down the stairs reads ICE. Directly across from the front doors, straight down the hall, is a sign pointing north, to a part of the building labeled OFF-ICE ROOMS.

It’s a nice building. Not as nice as Hyungwon’s base rink, but nice enough. It’ll work. 

Suddenly, Jiyong materializes in front of them, startling Hyungwon. Seunghyun seems equally as surprised to see Jiyong as Hyungwon is.

“Good morning, you two,” Jiyong says. He’s bundled in his winter coat, and holding a Starbucks bag. Hyungwon, cold and tired, greets him with a slight nod and a smile he half hides under his scarf.

“When did you get here? What are you doing...?” Seunghyun asks, bewildered. 

“I got here a few minutes ago. I brought you both breakfast,” Jiyong says. He beckons them towards the glass doors and pushes it open, leading them onto the terrace over the ice. As he places his Starbucks bag on one of the benches, Hyungwon’s ears pick up the distinct sounds of blades on ice.

Someone else is here. 

He looks down at the ice. Someone dressed entirely in black is on the sleek surface, skating delicate laps around the ovular rink. They clearly know what they’re doing; they skate around in delicate ease, and Hyungwon can recognize a few of the step sequences the person is performing.

“I thought you said we’d be alone,” Hyungwon grumbles to Seunghyun.

Seunghyun, already sipping from the coffee Jiyong brought him, glances out over the ice and narrows his eyes when he sees the figure in black skating gracefully across its surface. “That’s what I was told.”

“Here, kiddo,” Jiyong says, nudging a cup at Hyungwon. “I wasn’t sure what to get you. I hope you like frappuccinos.”

Hyungwon takes the cup with a warm smile. “Thank you, Jiyong. You didn’t have to.”

Jiyong opens his mouth to say something, but then the doors behind them open again, and a round little woman dressed in a huge winter parka steps onto the terrace.

“Oh, you’re here!” the woman exclaims. “I’m glad you’ve found us! I’m Sun Anjong. Pleasure to meet you!”

She sticks her hand out to Seunghyun. Whoever this woman is, she has way too much energy for four in the morning. She shakes Seunghyun’s hand so violently Hyungwon is afraid she’ll rip his arm out of its socket.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Seunghyun says, a little tightly. “I’m Choi Seunghyun. This is my husband, Kwon Jiyong. And my student, Ch—”

“Chae Hyungwon!” Anjong gasps. “Oh, a pleasure to meet you! An Olympian! At our rink!”

Hyungwon fights back the urge to groan. He’s not an Olympian. Not yet, at least.

“Yes, about that,” Seunghyun says, and gestures to the ice, where the person is still skating, completely unaware of the interaction ongoing on the terrace. “We were told we’d have the ice to ourselves from four to ten and seven to eleven. So, um, who is that, exactly?”

Anjong looks past Seunghyun’s shoulder at the ice, and her entire face lights up like a Christmas tree when she realizes who Seunghyun is talking about.

“Oh, that’s just Changkyun!” she gushes. “He’s a student at this university—a quiet boy, very shy. He won’t bother you. And no one else is here. You’ll barely notice him.”

Hyungwon glances back out at the ice just in time to watch the person, Changkyun, throw a huge double axel. That’s the type of axel that can easily be tripled. His mouth falls open in surprise, and he suddenly doubts the woman entirely.

In shock, he looks at Jiyong and Seunghyun, hoping one or both of them saw it too, but they’re focused on the overly-excited woman. She’s moved onto another topic and is talking at the speed of light, and Jiyong and Seunghyun are watching her, clearly slightly exasperated.

He tunes the woman out, and looks back at the figure on the ice, watching to see what he’ll do next. The boy glides around for a minute, before he preps again for an axel. This time, though, he throws a triple. He doesn’t land it, and Hyungwon winces when the boy falls to the ice with a loud clatter.

“Hyungwon,” Seunghyun says gently, nudging him.

“Hm?”

Hyungwon turns around, wide eyed. All three adults are looking at him.

“Anjong-ssi is going to give us a brief tour of the building,” he says. “Let’s go with her.”

“Okay,” Hyungwon agrees easily, hoping the tour will go quickly.

With a final glance at the boy on the ice, he follows Seunghyun off the terrace. 

* * *

The tour takes a little over half an hour, which is about twenty minutes too long, and by the time Anjong finally leaves them alone, it’s a quarter to five in the morning and he’s itching to get on the ice. The locker rooms are on the bottom level, a few paces away from the ice, and just as he’s leaving the men’s locker room with his skates on, he pushes the door open and nearly hits someone with it.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even see you!” he apologizes, horrified.

The person he’d nearly knocked over takes a few steps back, and when Hyungwon gets a look at him, he realizes it’s the person on the ice from before—Changkyun.

And he looks aghast to be looking Hyungwon in the face.

“Chae Hyungwon,” he stammers. “Oh my God.”

Realizing the kid must recognize him, Hyungwon gives an awkward little laugh. “Uh, yeah…”

“Anjong told me someone else would be in the morning session, but I didn’t expect—” he swallows, “—you.”

Hyungwon tries to smile. “Are you, uh, okay? I didn’t mean to hit you with the door.”

“I’m fine!” the boy says quickly. The tips of his ears and his cheeks are bright red. “Congratulations on your win at Nationals!”

Blinking in surprise, Hyungwon stares at him. He’s both shocked and pleased at this stranger’s congratulations. “Um—thanks. Were you there? I didn’t—”

Maybe he’s someone from a smaller rink. He’s a college student, but he can’t be any older than Hyungwon. Maybe he’s someone just getting started, just getting himself out there. That would explain his incredible jumps.

“Oh, no, I don’t compete.” he says, sounding a bit flustered. “No, I—I watched it on television. I always do.”

“You always do, huh?” Hyungwon says with a little smile. He’s finding this boy to be a little adorable. “I just thought… I saw you try a triple axel. It looked pretty good, but I was at such a distance that I…”

“It was underrotated,” the boy sighs. “It always is.”

“A good coach will help you fix it,” Hyungwon says. “Where’s your coach?”

At this, the kid colors a little more, and it takes him a moment to reply. “I don’t—um—I don’t have a coach. Not anymore, at least.”

“Oh,” Hyungwon says, and thinks for a moment about what to say. “I just thought, uh, you’re pretty good, so I thought… never mind. You train on your own?”

“Yeah,” he says, and his smile looks a bit tight. “I’m Changkyun, by the way. Er, Lim Changkyun.”

Hyungwon smiles. “Chae Hyungwon. But you already knew that.”

Changkyun giggles bashfully, and this time his smile is wide enough to show little dimples on either side of his mouth. Hyungwon hopes he’s not blushing.

“Are you here every day?” he asks, surprising himself. He’s not sure why he asked.

Changkyun shrugs. “Whenever I can. Usually early in the morning. I can’t—”

“Hyungwon?”

It’s Seunghyun. The coach appears out of nowhere, looking curiously at Hyungwon and Changkyun. He’s already got his skates on, and the familiar click-clack of his blade guards is what initially alerts Hyungwon to his presence.

“Everything okay?” he asks. “I’ve been waiting—”

“I was keeping you from your practice!” Changkyun gasps, slapping a hand to his forehead. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s okay,” Hyungwon says passively. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to get the chance to talk to you.”

Changkyun’s face turns impossibly red, and he fumbles for a moment to say something. “Thank you? You’re welcome. Uh? Um—I’m sorry again. Uh, see you around, Hyungwon-ssi…”

Hyungwon smiles, and Changkyun bows, then ducks past him into the locker room. 

“Come on, Hyungwon-ah, we only have until ten,” Seunghyun reminds him. Hyungwon hurries to follow him towards the ice.

* * *

Once inside the locker room, Changkyun sits on the bench next to his belongings with a heavy thunk, trying to catch his breath and understand everything that’s just happened. Chae Hyungwon is practicing at his rink. _The_ Chae Hyungwon.

Unbelievable.

On autopilot, he pulls his phone out of his bag, having completely forgotten why he came to the locker room in the first place. He glances over and finds what he can only assume to be Hyungwon’s belongings a few steps away. He has a lot of really nice equipment, Changkyun notices. Instead of a skate backpack, Hyungwon has a suitcase dedicated to his skating belongings, and the black case lays open on the bench, showing off his towel, soakers, random articles of clothing, a couple pairs of gloves, spare laces, and a little bag full of different sponge pads for different parts of the body. Changkyun had also noted, standing in the doorway of the locker room, that Hyungwon wears Edeas. They’re very nice boots, too—newish, probably only a couple of months old. 

He glances at his own beaten up Risport boots and sighs wistfully. He’s the only one who is ever in the rink as early as four a.m. because that’s the best time for peace and quiet, even if it means he gets only about five hours of sleep each night. How long is Hyungwon going to stay here? _Why_ is he here? Changkyun has no clue. He had not expected to wake up this morning and meet one of his favorite skaters. This is all just so surreal.

So, naturally, his first impulse is to text his friends.

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _SDSNSVSDKVKS_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _gUYS I’M FREAKING OUTSKFSKVDS_

He sets his phone down for a moment, knowing none of his friends will reply to him any time soon. It’s not even six in the morning yet. Even Kihyun, the lightest sleeper of all of them, doesn’t get up that early. He sits and stares at the wall, still trying to convince himself what’s happening is legitimately happening.

He flinches when his phone buzzes unexpectedly.

 **_Eomma:_ ** _Changkyun I thought we told you not to text us here until after seven a.m._

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _I knOw but this is really important_

 **_Eomma:_ ** _More important than sleep? I have a test today, you know_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _Chae Hyungwon is practicing at my rink!_

 **_Eomma:_ ** _what_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _You better not be lying Lim Changkyun or I will beat your ass_

Changkyun scoffs. Hoseok-hyung cries when he kills mosquitoes.

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _I’m choosing to ignore that threat because we all know that you’d never lay a hand on me, but I swear I’m not lying! Oh my God you guys he’ll be here until like ten I think you should come meet him!_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _I just talked to him!_

 **_Eomma:_ ** _You talked to him? Why is he at your rink? I thought he trained in Taereung_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _Yeah I have no idea why he’s here actually_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _I’m sure it’s nothing permanent_

He realizes the truth of it after he sends the message. Hyungwon probably isn’t staying for long. He’ll probably only be here for a few weeks, depending on why. Why would a future Olympian move from a rink designated to train Olympic athletes to a public ice arena on a university campus?

 **_Appa:_ ** _Guys it’s way too early for this_

 **_Eomma:_ ** _Backread hyung_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _Changkyun’s future boyfriend is training at his rink instead of the one he usually trains at_

 **_Appa:_ ** _Oh wow_

 **_Appa:_ ** _Remember you used to freak out that he trains only half an hour away from you_

 **_Appa:_ ** _Now he trains like one room away_

 **_Appa:_ ** _Also no offense but I’d rather not get up at the crack of dawn to meet him_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Yeah sorry Kyun I’m not down either_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _He’s not my future boyfriend_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _You wish he was_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _*obscene hand gesture*_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _You can’t even send the emoji lmao_

 **_Eomma:_ ** _Lol you’re so cute maknae_

 **_Changkyunie:_ ** _I need new friends_

Stung, he locks his phone and stuffs it back into his bag before any of the three of them can send anything else. Maybe he’d have been better off not texting them so early. 

Or at all.

This is not how he expected or wanted his morning to go. 

As he stands back up, slipping his gloves back onto his hands, he shakes his head. Puts it out of his mind. That’s what Taemin always told him to do when he couldn’t focus during practice.

The thought of his former coach makes him sad. He tries not to think about Taemin much anymore. He wishes he could still contact Taemin, ask him how he’s doing or where he is, but even if he used to consider his coach a friend, it wouldn’t be appropriate now. Taemin had always been able to understand Changkyun on a level his parents and brother and friends never could, and even if they had to keep their relationship strictly student-coach, Changkyun misses being able to talk to him, because Taemin _always_ understood. When Changkyun graduated high school, he and Taemin had been forced to part ways for more than one reason. Shortly after beginning his first year at university, he heard from a childhood friend that Taemin left his hometown. Changkyun has no idea where he is now.

He takes a deep breath. He can hear Taemin’s voice, even now.

 _Put it out of your mind,_ Taemin says, a gentle whisper in Changkyun’s ear.

He steels himself and heads back out into the ice area.

* * *

Jiyong joins them about ten minutes after Hyungwon and Seunghyun get on the ice, and Seunghyun instructs Hyungwon to begin his warm-up as he talks to Anjong, who has parked herself on the bench right next to Jiyong, directly by the rink’s edge, and is watching curiously. Every time Hyungwon does something that is even remotely impressive, she explodes into obnoxious applause. Hyungwon fights back a grimace every time.

Still in the process of warming up, Hyungwon is keenly aware when Changkyun comes back out onto the ice after a long fifteen minutes in the locker room. The expression on his face is a bit disengaged, like he’s only partly there. Another part of his mind is locked away, somewhere else.

Hyungwon is shocked at the sudden desire he has to make Changkyun laugh. He wants to bring the kid’s little dimpled smile back, but he’s not sure why. He’s known him for all of one hour. Less than that, even.

The rink isn’t big, but it’s big enough with only two of them on the ice. And just like Anjong said he would, Changkyun keeps to himself the entire time he’s on the ice. The cute, bashful boy Hyungwon had spoken to in the locker room only minutes ago is gone. He’s shrunk into himself; he shys away every time Hyungwon comes near him, no matter what he’s doing. Hyungwon tries to watch him as best as he can while trying to practice himself, but Seunghyun is a particularly attentive coach, and they’ve only been at it for an hour when he calls Hyungwon to the rinkside.

“You seem a bit distracted today,” Seunghyun comments vaguely.

Hyungwon shrugs, sipping from his water bottle.

“Is it because of the other boy? You’re not unused to sharing a rink, are you?”

“I’m just curious about him,” Hyungwon confesses. “He seems so shy, but I don’t understand why. He threw a triple axel earlier.”

Seunghyun’s eyebrows fly up. “Did he really?”

“It was underrotated, but… yeah. I don’t understand why he’s not competing. He told me he doesn’t have a coach anymore. I don’t understand why.”

Both of them watch as Changkyun prepares for a jump. Hyungwon holds his breath as he leaps into a triple lutz, and when he lands the jump, he’s totally floored. The technique of the jump itself is incredible. It’s high in the air. It’s fully rotated. Changkyun has a nice, deep outside edge and almost no full blade assistance. It’s a textbook lutz. 

Anjong begins to clap loudly. “Bravo, Changkyun-ah!”

The poor kid just dips his head.

“Wow,” Jiyong says.

“That lutz was better than mine,” Hyungwon remarks under his breath.

Seunghyun gives him an amused look. “He does seem to be talented,” he muses.

Seunghyun is a very attentive coach, which makes him hard to impress. He pays attention to things most people don’t see, which is a huge part of why Hyungwon’s jump technique on his own lutz, flip, loop and toe loop has drastically improved since he became Seunghyun’s student. Hyungwon is sure Seunghyun can see at least a few different things about Changkyun’s lutz that need work, but to Hyungwon’s less trained eye, the lutz was perfect. 

Changkyun gets off the ice at a quarter to nine in the morning, when Hyungwon is taking a fifteen minute break. After about five minutes in the locker room, Changkyun heads up the stairs, his skate bag slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t have a suitcase, unlike Hyungwon, which Hyungwon finds a little strange. Most skaters at this level keep all of their skating materials, including their skates, in a valise. The fact that Changkyun doesn’t is a bit odd.

Even after one practice in his presence, Hyungwon can see Changkyun for what he is—a diamond in the rough. He wonders who Changkyun’s coach was, and where he or she is now. With talent such as Changkyun’s, it’s a shock that he’s not competing with Hyungwon.

The thought stops him dead in his tracks. Changkyun is _exactly_ the type of skater who should be competing with him. Real, raw talent, combined with powerful legs and a hunger to keep going, to keep learning—why _isn’t_ he on the international stage?

“Ready to keep going, Hyungwon-ah?” Seunghyun asks, stepping back onto the ice.

As Hyungwon stands up to join him, taking one more small sip of what’s left of his frappuccino, he nods, but his thoughts linger on Changkyun the entire rest of the morning.

* * *

He sort of can’t wait to tell Jooheon and Minhyuk about how his first practice at the Induk rink had gone. He takes the train back to his campus, attends his three afternoon classes, and then meets both of them at the library around three in the afternoon. They’re taking more classes than he is, because they’re both full-time students whereas Hyungwon is only taking a few classes to focus on skating, so when he arrives at the library of the campus he’s not surprised to find both of them buried among books.

He sets his stuff down with a loud clatter and winces, apologizing quietly to the librarian nearby, before sitting down across from them. Both Jooheon and Minhyuk watch him expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

“How did practice go today?” Jooheon asks softly, wary of the librarian.

“Huh? Oh, fine,” Hyungwon says. “But I met someone while I was there—”

At this, both of them sit up straighter, glancing at each other. Minhyuk smirks, bookmarking the page he’s on in his textbook and quietly closing the book. 

“Well, now you have my attention,” Minhyuk says coyly.

Hyungwon feigns swinging at him, and he dodges, giggling. 

“Not like that, idiot,” Hyungwon says, without any heat. “No, I met another skater. He’s our age, I think—probably a little younger. You guys have to come with me when I go back tomorrow morning. You have to meet him.”

“Okay, and what’s so special about this boy?” Minhyuk asks coquettishly.

“He’s just… he’s brilliant.”

“Brillant, hm?” Jooheon smirks. “Brilliant _looking_?”

Hyungwon’s cheeks flush, because while that hadn’t been what he meant, it wasn’t exactly untrue. He still can’t stop thinking about Changkyun’s dimples.

“No, come on, guys,” Hyungwon whines. “I mean, a brilliant skater. I mean it. He’s—he’s as good as me.”

Both of them seem to recognize now that he’s being serious. Jooheon sits back in his chair.

“As good as you, huh?” he asks. “Who is his coach?”

“That’s the thing,” Hyungwon says. “He doesn’t have one.”

Minhyuk’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. “He doesn’t have a coach?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“If he’s as good as you, he can’t be entirely self taught,” Jooheon says doubtfully.

Hyungwon shakes his head. “He said he doesn’t have a coach _anymore_. So he’s had one in the past, but now he’s all alone.”

He realizes it as he says it. Without a coach, Changkyun spends every morning _entirely_ alone in that rink, aside from the presence of Anjong. The thought makes Hyungwon a little sad. Doesn’t he get lonely?

“Well, I don’t know about getting up at three in the morning, but if he’s around when I get up tomorrow, I’ll see if Jooheon and I can stop by,” Minhyuk says. “We’ll bring you coffee. Just text me the address.”

“You don’t have to bring coffee, but I appreciate the thought,” Hyungwon says, pulling out his phone to message Minhyuk the rink’s address.

“Nah, we’ll bring you coffee,” Jooheon says. “So, tell us more about this boy…”

* * *

“Changkyun-ah.”

Changkyun glances up from his textbook. Kihyun, Hyunwoo and Hoseok are there; they’ve all just been released from class and Hyunwoo is holding a drink carrier from Starbucks with four different coffees in each slot, despite the fact that it’s nearing four in the evening.

“Here,” Hyunwoo says, picking up the Starbucks cup with the lightest colored liquid in it and setting it down in front of Changkyun.

Changkyun opens his mouth to refute, because how can he drink a caffeinated drink at four in the afternoon? He barely sleeps as it is.

“Don’t worry. It’s decaf,” Hyunwoo says with a gentle eye smile.

Changkyun stares at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Hyunwoo says. “We’re sorry for how we talked to you over text this morning.”

“It’s fine,” Changkyun says, even though the back of his throat still stings bitterly. “I’m not supposed to text you before seven. I was in the wrong.”

“You weren’t, though,” Kihyun says firmly. “I only registered what exactly you were telling us, like, an hour later. _Chae Hyungwon_ was at your rink this morning. I know that’s a pretty big deal for you, and we’re sorry for brushing it off just because it was early.”

Changkyun pauses. Kihyun sounds genuine, but Changkyun isn’t going to deny that he’d been hurt.

He’s too sensitive, though, so he just smiles. “I appreciate the apology. It’s okay guys, really.”

And it is okay. But to protect his poor heart, he won’t make the mistake of texting them before seven again.

“How are your skates treating you?” Hoseok asks.

Changkyun sighs, sipping from his coffee. “The same. Another day, another ankle not broken.”

Hoseok grimaces at him. Changkyun can tell what argument sits at the tip of his tongue, but Changkyun isn’t in the mood for that, either. He’s perfectly aware that practicing in his current skates is risky. They’re old, nearly three years old, and he has to put tape on them everyday just to keep them stable enough to practice in. He’s risking serious injuries every time he puts them on, and if he wants to keep practicing without his parents knowing he’s doing it, he needs to find a new pair, soon.

“You said you talked to Hyungwon, right?” Kihyun asks suddenly, directing the topic of conversation back to the skater. “What did he say to you?”

“Um, not much,” Changkyun says, struggling to recall the entire conversation. “Most of the conversation was me being a flustered idiot.”

Kihyun smiles fondly. “But he didn’t tell you why he’s there?”

“No,” Changkyun says. “I didn’t ask. I’d ask him tomorrow, but he’s too cool for me.”

“Come on, he can’t be that much cooler than you,” Hoseok says. “You’re already super cool.”

Changkyun grins. “No, for real. He’s super cool. Really expensive, too.”

Hyunwoo cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“Just, he wears Edeas”—Kihyun whistles—“and he’s got all this nice equipment and a great coach and the luxury of not having to practice in secret. So, way too cool for me.”

“Changkyun-ah,” Hoseok says gently. “That doesn’t mean you’re less than him.”

“I know,” Changkyun sighs. “I just got nervous.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s your idol or anything,” Kihyun says sarcastically. “I don’t blame you for getting nervous.”

“Kihyun is right,” Hyunwoo says. “Give yourself some more credit, okay, Changkyun-ah?”

Changkyun nods. He feels a little like a chastised child, but he’s not sure why.

“So, how was practicing with him?” Hoseok asks curiously.

“Um, I didn’t really interact with him on the ice,” Changkyun says. “We mostly kept to ourselves. The rink felt a little smaller, but usually I’m completely alone in dead silence, so that’s to be expected, I guess. I mostly tried to stay out of his way. He is going to Worlds, after all.”

“Okay, but don’t let him bully you,” Kihyun warns. “You pay money to practice there as early as you do. Don’t let him take that from you.”

“I won’t,” Changkyun promises.

He already can’t wait to go back tomorrow.

* * *

Changkyun is already on the ice when Hyungwon gets to the rink the next morning. He’s a bit late; his habit of taking the train to Taereung put him on the wrong line and he had to frantically get off at the next stop and pay for a bus ride to the correct rink. He can see Seunghyun waiting by the rinkside, so he hurriedly gets himself ready and steps on the ice at four twenty-five.

Changkyun only nods shyly at him in greeting before resuming his warmup.

“You’re late,” Seunghyun says, but there’s no heat in his tone.

“I got on the wrong train,” Hyungwon says, cheeks coloring a little. 

Seunghyun huffs a laugh. “Go warm up.” 

The next hour is spent in silence. Changkyun barely looks at Hyungwon, let alone talk to him. Hyungwon wishes he knew what to say. He’s intrigued by the younger skater. He wants to know about him: when he started skating, how long he’s been skating, who he’s worked with in the past. Why he’s not competing against Hyungwon.

Jooheon and Minhyuk surprise him by showing up at a quarter to six. Hyungwon doesn’t notice them at first, but when Seunghyun sees them up on the terrace, he points them out to Hyungwon and allows him a fifteen minute break to talk to them. Hyungwon beckons them down to the rink area. They’re holding hands, bleary-eyed and tired, but they come bearing coffee, just like they said they would, and Hyungwon is glad to see them. 

“Is that him?” Jooheon asks quietly by way of greeting, nodding subtly in Changkyun’s direction.

Hyungwon nods, sipping his coffee.

“What’s his name again?” Minhyuk asks.

“Changkyun,” Hyungwon murmurs. 

“Do you know how old he is?”

“Haven’t asked him yet.”

Changkyun begins to come in their direction, but he avoids eye contact with any of them as he approaches the stereo. 

“Changkyun-ah,” Hyungwon says, deciding to take the leap.

The boy looks up, halfway through plugging his phone into the stereo. He focuses wide eyes on Hyungwon, as if he’s shocked that Hyungwon is speaking to him.

“These are my friends,” Hyungwon introduces. “Minhyuk and Jooheon.”

Changkyun gives them a shy smile.

“You’re a student here?” Jooheon asks, grinning warmly in greeting.

“Ah, um, yes,” Changkyun says.

“Do you mind if I ask how old you are?” Minhyuk cuts in.

“I’m eighteen,” Changkyun says.

“Oh, he’s a baby,” Minhyuk coos. 

Changkyun turns red, laughing awkwardly. “I’ll be nineteen later this month.”

“What do you study?” Jooheon asks casually.

Changkyun’s expression falls a little. “Physics.”

“A hard science major,” Minhyuk muses. “Do you like it? Are you good at science?”

Changkyun offers a small shrug.

“It’s not the worst major. Do you mind if I use the stereo for a minute?” Changkyun asks, directing the question at Hyungwon.

“I’m not using it,” Hyungwon laughs. “You don’t have to ask for permission. This is technically your rink, after all.”

Changkyun smiles, and there are his beautiful dimples. Hyungwon feels the tips of his ears heat up; he hopes he’s not blushing. He watches as Changkyun plugs his phone in, taps on it for a moment, then skates to the center of the rink. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Hyungwon hisses to Jooheon and Minhyuk once Changkyun is out of earshot.

Minhyuk puts his hands up. “We’re trying to get to know him. He’s not going to interact with you unless you initiate it, Hyungwon.”

Hyungwon tries to come up with a snippy reply, but fails and looks back at Changkyun as he takes a starting position. His feet shoulder-width apart, arms relaxed by his sides, head down, eyes focused on the ice.

The song that begins to play is one Hyungwon has heard before, but it’s not something super familiar to him. He probably only recognizes it because someone he’s competed against before has skated to it. It starts with a slow piano trill, then a deep voice begins to sing huskily, and Changkyun begins to skate.

The routine is wonderful. Changkyun doesn’t attempt any jumps, which Hyungwon can understand, as he’s noticed that Changkyun’s skates are painfully broken down, but the step sequences, dance sequences, and spin combinations blow Hyungwon away. The music speeds up, slows down, crescendos and decrescendos and Changkyun keeps up with it expertly. He has wonderfully deep edges and extends his body to the fullest he can, filling the entire rink with his energy and beauty. There’s passion laced deep in the grooves his blades leave on the ice; emotion in his movements and fire in his feet. He moves as though he’s flying.

Enthralled, from the moment the music begins to the moment it ends, Hyungwon can’t tear his eyes away.

As the final chords of the song reverberate through the arena, Changkyun reaches his ending pose: knelt on one knee on the ice, right arm outstretched to the side as if he’s reaching for someone else’s hand.

Hyungwon is floored. 

And he’s frustrated.

He’s never met anyone like Changkyun. Not even the people he competes with regularly can impress Hyungwon like Changkyun just did. It’s one thing to be good at skating; it’s another thing entirely to bring the ice to life, to tell a story with your body.

 _Changkyun is someone the world should know,_ Hyungwon thinks to himself. _Why doesn’t the world know him?_

He glances to his right. Minhyuk and Jooheon are watching, wide-eyed.

“Do you see what I mean?” he asks under his breath.

Jooheon nods, entranced. “He is brilliant.”

Suddenly there’s a burst of applause from the terrace. All of them glance over; three people Hyungwon has never seen before are standing on the platform hanging over the ice.

Changkyun seems to recognize them, though, because as soon as he registers who is up there, he shakes his head, grinning. He’s sweaty and breathing heavily from the performance he’d just given, but he carries with him the glow of a skater who has just skated for their life, who has just given his all. Hyungwon knows at that moment that Changkyun is the type of skater to throw everything he has into every performance.

The group of three up on the terrace vanish, and as Changkyun steps on the ice they appear on the other side of the rink. These must be Changkyun’s friends, Hyungwon realizes belatedly. That would explain his reaction to seeing them on the terrace. How long had they been there? He’d been so captivated by Changkyun’s performance he hadn’t noticed them enter at all.

“Any broken ankles?” the smallest one of the three calls as they approach. The small one has curly hair the color of candy, and a sharp, pointy nose. 

“Not today,” Changkyun smirks, unplugging his phone from the stereo. As he does so, the machine makes an earthshattering popping noise that has every one of them flinching at the sheer volume.

“Sorry. I forgot it does that sometimes,” Changkyun says sheepishly. “Hyungwon-ssi, these are my friends… Kihyun, Hoseok and Hyunwoo.”

“Chae Hyungwon,” the one called Hoseok says with a brilliant smile. “We didn’t believe him when he told us you were practicing here.”

Hyungwon breathes a laugh, then sighs. “My rink, the one in Taereung, had some disastrous electrical failure. It’ll be closed probably until the middle of February.”

“Oh, wow,” the short one, Kihyun, winces. “How are you enjoying this one?”

“It’s not bad,” Hyungwon says. “It works for what we need.”

He doesn’t add that being able to see Changkyun is an unexpected bonus.

* * *

As the days creep closer to his birthday, Hyungwon learns a lot. He learns a lot about the rink: the stereo is old, hence the ear splitting noise it made when Changkyun unplugged his phone, but it still works fine. The rink is a popular hang-out hotspot for the students of the university.

Mostly, though, he learns about Changkyun. He learns through Anjong that Changkyun is usually the only one who bothers to get up early enough to practice while the rink is closed to the public. He learns through Kihyun that, at some point towards the end of his high school career, he and his former coach had parted ways for reasons Kihyun didn’t disclose. He learns that Changkyun is majoring in physics with the goal of being a research physicist post graduation, which is interesting to Hyungwon, because he doesn’t really see the kid as someone who would be interested in hard sciences. Besides, the fact that he’s in such a difficult major and still manages to make time to skate tells Hyungwon where Changkyun’s passions really lie.

He learns that Changkyun has been skating recreationally since he was three. Almost sixteen years of his life have been spent skating. He can do every triple except a triple axel and he’s even more flexible than Hyungwon. He has a stunning one-handed biellmann that Hyungwon can do only in his dreams.

The Korean public would adore someone like Changkyun. He’s a dork, he’s good-looking, and he’s talented. He could easily make a name for himself, establish his presence in the skating community.

So _why_ isn’t he competing? What’s holding him back? 

It’s a question Hyungwon asks himself every day. Changkyun’s friends, who make more appearances as the days go by, aren’t providing the answer. So, he decides to get it himself.

The Monday before his birthday, he gets to the rink earlier than normal so he can talk to Changkyun before they get on the ice. As he enters the locker room, his gaze zeroes in on Changkyun sitting on one of the benches. He’s tying his skates, which are so broken down it physically pains Hyungwon to look at them, and there’s such an expression of reproach on his beautiful face that Hyungwon just has to do something.

“Morning,” he says as cheerily as he can.

Changkyun looks up at him in surprise. “Oh, good morning. You’re here early.”

Even though they’ve known each other for almost two weeks and spend hours a day in each other’s presence, Hyungwon gets the feeling Changkyun still doesn’t know how to act around him. It’s never bothered him with other people before, but he wants Changkyun to feel comfortable around him.

He sits next to Changkyun on the bench, and tries not to cringe as Changkyun picks up a roll of heavy-duty, clear duct tape and begins wrapping the tape around the ankles of both skates. They’re really old Risport Electras. If Hyungwon’s memory serves him right, those skates are only designed for single and double jumps. Given how broken down they are, it is a _miracle_ that Changkyun manages triple jumps in them.

And it’s super dangerous. Of course Kihyun would be worried about him breaking an ankle. You couldn’t pay Hyungwon to try to skate in those boots.

“Why do you wear those?” Hyungwon asks.

Changkyun glances at him. “I can’t afford new ones.”

“Can’t you ask your parents for new skates? Your birthday is at the end of January, right?”

Changkyun barks a sharp laugh. “I will never ask my parents for any new skating equipment ever again.”

Shocked into silence, Hyungwon stares at him. That was not the answer he’d been expecting.

“Why not?” he asks timidly.

Changkyun sighs, and finishes taping the left boot before putting the tape down and glancing at Hyungwon. “My parents… think skating is a waste of time.”

“Then why do they let you do it?”

“They don’t know I still do,” Changkyun admits. “I told them I tossed these old skates when I moved up here for university. They don’t know that the whole reason I applied and got admission to this university is because it’s the only college in Korea with an ice arena on the campus.”

Hyungwon blinks at him. All the pieces are falling together now. “You don’t study physics because you like science, do you?”

Changkyun shakes his head. “If I had it my way, Hyungwon, there is every chance I would be competing with you.”

Hyungwon looks down at his skates. “Did your parents buy those for you?”

“My parents haven’t paid for anything relating to my skating since I was fourteen. I bought these when I was sixteen with money I saved up from birthdays and my allowance,” Changkyun says. “But that was before I became a broke college student who has to pay for rent and groceries.”

“Do you have a job?”

“Yes, but I’m technically a full time student. My job… I can’t pay for weekly groceries, monthly rent, and utilities with the paycheck I get and still have money leftover to save for things like new skates. I’m just waiting until I can start working for real; use my degree and get a real job with a good paycheck. Until then, I’m stuck in these three year old boots and hand-me-down gear.”

Hyungwon just cannot comprehend this. If Changkyun’s parents could see just how talented he is, how passionate he is, would his situation be different?

“Why don’t they support you?” he asks.

Changkyun doesn’t reply.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“My dad thinks it turned me gay,” Changkyun says bluntly. He looks Hyungwon squarely in the face. “But the truth is, I was gay before I put skates on for the first time.”

Hyungwon bites his lip. It’s dead silent. 

“You know, for what it’s worth,” Hyungwon says boldly, “the fact that you’ve continued to hone your skill and develop your passion despite the lack of support from your parents is really admirable. I’m guessing you paid for coaching, too? Changkyun, your triple lutz is better than mine, even in those old boots. That has to say something about your talent.”

Changkyun lets something like a smile grace his lips. “I owe my lutz to my coach, Taemin. My axel, too. And my salchow.”

“Taemin,” Hyungwon says thoughtfully. “I know that name.”

“Lee Taemin,” Changkyun says. “The best coach I’ve ever had.”

“National champion a few times, right?”

Changkyun nods. “Worlds, too. I owe him a lot.”

“Where is he now?”

Changkyun shrugs. “Dunno. After he and I parted ways at the end of high school, he left to coach abroad. He could be anywhere.”

“I know this might be a dumb question, but have you talked to your parents?” Hyungwon asks. “About skating?”

“Too many times to count,” Changkyun sighs. “It’s not worth it anymore. I was their contingency plan. My brother was always their golden child, but when he decided he didn’t want to follow my dad into science and moved to the States to pursue a degree in art, they were like, ‘well, thank God we’ve got Changkyun.’ And suddenly I had to bear the weight of their expectations.”

Hyungwon looks at him. His heart is sinking to his stomach. That’s a horrible situation to be in. He doesn’t know what to say other than, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” Changkyun says suddenly, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Hyungwon-ssi.”

“Hyung,” Hyungwon says. “Call me hyung. And you’re not wasting my time. I asked you about it, didn’t I?”

Changkyun glances at him, unsure.

“And I’m glad you’re opening up to me,” Hyungwon says earnestly. “I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you, but it sounds like you needed someone to talk to. I might be ‘the Chae Hyungwon’ or whatever, but I still have a life. And I want you in it.”

“Why me?” Changkyun asks, looking Hyungwon full in the face. “I’m just a poor college kid.”

“I think you’re brilliant,” Hyungwon says honestly. “I’ve thought so since the day I met you.”

Changkyun’s face reddens, and his eyes begin to shine. He looks away. It’s like he’s never heard those words before. Hyungwon refrains from reaching out to touch him, wary of the kid’s personal bubble, but he gives Changkyun a smile when he finally looks at him again.

Changkyun manages a shaky smile in return. 

* * *

On the train back to university after practice is over, Hyungwon gets a text from his mother.

 **_Mum:_ ** _Hello my love. How is the new rink treating you?_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Not bad. I’ve made a friend._

 **_Mum:_ ** _Oh? I’m glad to hear that. Your father talked to one of the managers at Taereung. They were on the phone for hours._

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Tell dad I said not to worry about it._

 **_Mum:_ ** _We meant to ask what you’d like for your birthday. I’m sorry we won’t be there._

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _It’s okay, mum. I don’t need anything. I’m glad you’re enjoying Paris._

 **_Mum:_ ** _Nothing for skating? No new materials or gear?_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _No, mum, I’m all good._

 **_Mum:_ ** _Are you sure? It is your twenty-first, after all…_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Mom, I promise I have everything I need._

 **_Mum:_ ** _Your father wants to know if you’d just like us to deposit a check into your account._

 **_Mum:_ ** _If you don’t need anything, you can use that money for whatever you’d like. Buy yourself something nice._

Hyungwon thinks for a moment. 

**_Hyungwon:_ ** _If you really feel like you want to, then you know I would of course appreciate it._

* * *

The morning of his twenty-first birthday, he wakes up to a notification from his bank on his phone. His parents have deposited ₩250,000 into his account.

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Thanks, mum. Tell dad I said thank you._

 **_Mum:_ ** _Happy birthday, my dear. Look for something in the mail from your brother._

Later in the day, he’s doing homework for one of his online classes when the doorbell rings. In the hallway stand Jooheon and Minhyuk, each holding three different gifts. Jooheon is also carrying what looks like a small cake, and Minhyuk has a bottle of champagne. 

“Happy twenty-first! Ready to get it going?” Minhyuk asks, marching past Hyungwon into the apartment.

“It’s a school night,” Hyungwon says with a sarcastic grin as he closes the door behind Jooheon.

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Jooheon scoffs.

“One of these packages is from your brother,” Minhyuk announces, setting a brown package on Hyungwon’s kitchen counter. “Did your parents not send you anything?”

“They put a check in my account,” Hyungwon says. 

“Did you go to the rink this morning?” Jooheon asks, looking around for Hyungwon’s skates.

“No, not today,” Hyungwon shakes his head. “Seunghyun gave me today off. I can’t drink too much, I still have practice tomorrow,” he adds with a pointed look at the champagne bottle.

“Damn. I should’ve brought the champagne over yesterday,” Minhyuk whines. 

Hyungwon laughs. Jooheon childishly thrusts a gift bag at him.

“Open mine first, hyung!”

* * *

Hyungwon arrives at the rink the next morning with a headache. He hadn’t even had that much to drink the night before, but he won’t let Minhyuk make that mistake again. Now that the end of January is approaching, the pressure of the upcoming World Championships is starting to get to him.

In better news, the Taereung rink will be back open for practice starting the week of February twelfth. After that, Hyungwon won’t have any reason to come to this part of Seoul at all anymore. He won’t have any reason to see Changkyun every day.

As he steps into the locker room, he finds a small gift bag on the bench where he normally sits. 

The little tag on the baggie only says Hyungwon’s name and the words ‘happy birthday.’ There’s nothing to indicate who it’s from. Changkyun’s belongings are already in the room. Seunghyun isn’t in yet, which means unless Anjong snuck into the men’s locker room, the gift is from Changkyun.

Hyungwon reaches into the bag and pulls out a silver necklace with a small charm on the chain. Upon closer inspection, he realizes the charm is a small ice skate, and the laces of the little skate are etched in jade. Hyungwon stares at the charm in awe. It’s a stunning gift, one that was probably very expensive. Hyungwon searches the necklace and the bag for a price tag or a gift receipt, but he finds nothing other than the paper the charm had been wrapped in.

“Do you like it?”

He snaps his gaze up to find Changkyun lingering shyly in the doorway. He’d been so busy looking at the necklace he hadn’t heard the younger skater come in.

“It’s a good luck charm,” Changkyun says. “The jade will protect your health.”

“Changkyun, I…” he trails off. “I don’t even know what to say. This had to have been so expensive…”

Changkyun waves him off. “Will you wear it? I can return it if you don’t wear jewelry.”

“Of course I’ll wear it,” Hyungwon says firmly. Never mind the fact that he doesn’t really wear jewelry and certainly doesn’t believe in the power of good luck charms—this gift is something he’ll wear every day. “Help me put it on.”

The necklace isn’t very long, so it fits neatly under Hyungwon’s practice shirt. The ice skate pendant sits right underneath his jugular notch, and it’s a bit cold against his skin, but soon Hyungwon can no longer feel it. 

He can’t stop thinking about the necklace all practice. He’s not known for wearing jewelry, so he’s definitely not used to it, but the necklace is just long enough to not be a nuisance or a distraction. In fact, as he immerses himself into practicing, the necklace is barely tangible against his skin. Its subtlety and simplicity is something Hyungwon quickly grows to appreciate.

He knows Changkyun isn’t exactly swimming in money. Why would he spend so much on Hyungwon? They’ve barely known each other for a month. Hyungwon just can’t wrap his head around it.

“Changkyun-ah,” he asks when Seunghyun gives him a fifteen minute break.

Changkyun plugs his phone into the stereo before turning to Hyungwon expectantly.

“When’s your birthday?”

“The twenty-sixth,” Changkyun replies.

Hyungwon nods. Ten days and Changkyun will be nineteen. He’ll be legally allowed to drive, drink, get married, enlist, and work. Ten days, and he’ll be a legal adult.

“Can I have your phone number?” Hyungwon asks.

Changkyun blinks in surprise, but then smiles. “Sure.”

Hyungwon passes him his phone. As Changkyun creates a contact for himself, Hyungwon catches movement in his peripheral vision and turns to find Changkyun’s friends up on the terrace hanging over the ice. The one Hyungwon thinks is called Hoseok waves when he sees Hyungwon watching. 

“Changkyun-ah!” Kihyun sings. His powerful voice echoes through the arena. “We brought you breakfast!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Changkyun calls back.

His response is just quiet enough that Kihyun doesn’t seem to hear it.

“What?” Kihyun yells.

Changkyun sighs as he hands Hyungwon’s phone back. Hyungwon grins.

“Thank you!” Changkyun shouts. Kihyun waves, and then the three of them disappear.

“Hey, I cut my music a little shorter this time,” Changkyun says, “would you mind pressing play for me?”

“Not at all,” Hyungwon says. He picks up Changkyun’s phone; open on the screen is a four and a half minute audio file. It’s titled _The Sound of Silence.mp_ 3\. Changkyun cuts his own music, too, it appears.

As Changkyun’s friends approach the benches where Hyungwon is seated, Changkyun skates to the center of the rink. He waits to see Changkyun nod before pressing play on the music.

The same music he skated to last time fills the arena, but the one thing Hyungwon recognizes is different is the audio quality. It sounds much clearer and better, and Changkyun can really do it justice now.

He’s also attempting jumps this run-through. His first two jumps, a triple lutz and a triple toe loop, are perfect, but he nearly falls on his third jump, a triple salchow. Hyungwon had seen the exact moment his foot had hit the ice, and watched as the ankle of the boot gave way, allowing Changkyun to fall.

“I have a proposition for you three,” Hyungwon says to Changkyun’s friends.

All three of them glance at him, varying levels of surprise in their gazes.

“His birthday is in a week or so, right?” Hyungwon says, looking at them. “I want to get him something nice.”

“As in…” Kihyun prompts.

“I was thinking about new skates.”

The tallest one, Hyunwoo, whistles. “Skates are very expensive.”

Hyungwon nearly rolls his eyes. Of course he knows that. His fingers find the skate pendant at his throat and he runs the pad of his index finger over the jade laces. “I know. I’ll cover most of the cost. It would be a birthday gift from all of us, including my friends.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” Kihyun mumbles. “I mean, the boots alone are manageable, but combined with the blades that he uses you’re looking at a pair of skates worth upwards of seven hundred thousand won. You don’t have an issue with that?”

“The skates on my feet were over one million won,” Hyungwon says pointedly, “and my parents asked me to cover half of it. I can pay for the blades. If we all can pool together some funds for the boots, then I can take care of the rest.”

“Which boots?” Hoseok says.

“He likes Risport,” Kihyun informs them. “I was doing some research on other Risport boots the other day. I think the RF3 Pros will work for him, and they’re not ridiculously expensive. If the three of us plus Hyungwon-ssi and his friends all put in seventy-five thousand won, we’ll be able to meet the price.”

“What will Kyun think, though?” Hyunwoo asks. “You know him. He doesn’t like it when we spend more than thirty thousand won on him as it is.”

At that moment, at the other end of the rink, Changkyun’s wobbly landing on his final triple flip sends him skittering onto his side. Hyungwon winces. 

“Are you okay?” Kihyun calls.

“Yep,” Changkyun sighs as he sits up. Quieter, he says, “stupid boots.”

He says it quietly, but not quiet enough for the four of them to miss it.

“He’ll probably be mad we spent so much on him,” Kihyun says honestly, “but if new skates are gonna protect his poor ankles, he’ll just have to find a way to deal with it.”

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Hyungwon receives seventy-five thousand won each from his friends and from Changkyun’s friends. The three hundred seventy-five thousand won total coupled with three hundred thousand won from his own bank account are enough for the skates: a pair of black Risport RF3 Pro boots and Jackson Matrix Legacy blades. He knows his parents will get a notification for the big purchase, and that they will be curious to know what he’s bought, but he can worry about that later. After arranging with Anjong, he sets the order up so the skates will arrive at the Pro Shop of Changkyun’s rink the morning of his birthday.

Hyungwon receives Kihyun’s, Hyunwoo’s and Hoseok’s phone numbers in order to complete this task, so when Hyungwon announces that the skates have been paid for and shipped, Minhyuk steals Hyungwon’s phone and creates a group chat for all seven of them. 

**_Minhyukkie:_ ** _Hello everyone :D_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Oh a group chat_

 **_Minhyukkie:_ ** _Yup! We’re all friends now after all_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _Oh hi hyung_

 **_Minhyukkie:_ ** _Changkyun-ah! My favorite dongsaeng how are you_

 **_Joo:_ ** _ >:O _

**_Minhyukkie:_ ** _Don’t worry my Joohoney you’re still my greatest love_

 **_Joo:_ ** _:)_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Changkyun, your new friends use emojis_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _They’re your friends too now apparently_

Hyungwon chuckles. Kihyun, Hyunwoo and Hoseok come to the rink more often than not, which Changkyun has told him is unlike them. Granted, they usually don’t show up before seven-thirty, an hour or so before Changkyun is about to get off the ice, but they usually bring coffee, and Kihyun already has Hyungwon’s Starbucks order memorized. They’re pretty cool people, Hyungwon has decided. It’s clear they care a lot about Changkyun. They remind Hyungwon in a sweet way of his own friends.

 **_Minhyukkie:_ ** _So, Changkyun-ah, what are you gonna do for your birthday?_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _Um probably nothing lol_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _Unacceptable_

 **_Joo:_ ** _It’s your nineteenth birthday! You can’t just do nothing!_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _Can we take you out somewhere?_

 **_Wonho:_ ** _Yeah, all seven of us! Our treat_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _Fine but only if you let me pay for my own dinner_

 **_Minhyukkie:_ ** _Um why would we do that_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _Because I don’t like it when people spend money on me_

Hyungwon frowns. He’d sort of thought Kihyun had been joking when he mentioned that when they last talked. He hopes Changkyun will accept the skates.

 **_Minhyukkie:_ ** _Well, okay I guess_

 **_Joo:_ ** _So, where should we eat?_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _How about the sushi place near the aquatic center? Changkyun likes that place_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _What can I say? They have good kimbap_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _But it’s pretty expensive_

 **_Joo:_ ** _Okay so we’ll pay for you_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _no please_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Let’s not make him uncomfortable_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Changkyun, we really don’t mind paying for you. It’s your nineteenth birthday after all_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _But if you really don’t want us to then we won’t_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _I really would rather you didn’t. I can pay_

 **_Hyunwoo:_ ** _Are you sure?_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _I’m sure._

Hyungwon bites his lip. 

They make plans to meet at the restaurant at six in the evening on Changkyun’s birthday. In a private chat, Kihyun and Hyungwon arrange to stop by the rink before meeting at the restaurant.

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _No offense, but I told you he doesn’t like people spending money on him_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Do you happen to know why he doesn’t like it?_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _He doesn’t like feeling like a burden. Idk if he’s told you about his parents or anything but there’s a reason he never asks for anything_

Well, that just breaks Hyungwon’s heart.

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Do you think he’ll react badly to the skates?_

 **_Kihyun:_ ** _I genuinely don’t know. It could go either way._

That doesn’t do anything to soothe Hyungwon. He’s starting to wonder if this was a bad idea.

* * *

Changkyun’s birthday comes quickly. After signing off of his last class of the day, Hyungwon spends an embarrassing amount of time wondering what to wear. He ultimately decides on a simple black button down, black skinny slacks, a grey beanie and his wool overcoat, a Christmas gift from his parents. He also puts on the necklace Changkyun had given him, but doesn’t bother putting on any other jewelry. 

He takes the train to the rink to first pick up the skates, and gives himself some extra time to wrap the box. A few minutes later, Kihyun, who has carpooled with Hoseok and Hyunwoo, pulls into the parking lot. When Hyungwon finishes up wrapping the box and steps outside, he realizes it’s started to snow. Fluffy white flakes of snow dust his shoulders and beanie as he slips into the car with Changkyun’s friends.

“Aw, I was hoping I’d get to see them before you wrapped them,” Hoseok says, looking at the box in Hyungwon’s lap.

Hyungwon grins. “You’ll see them when he opens it.”

He remembers what he and Kihyun had spoken about over text a few nights ago, and the smile slips from his face.

“Do you think he’ll accept them?” he asks warily.

“I think he will,” Hoseok says. “But we’ll need to make it clear we really wanted to do this for him.”

“He didn’t want any of us to pay for dinner tonight,” Hyungwon says. “What will he do with this?”

“The idea of us spending six hundred thousand won on him will definitely freak him out. We need to be prepared for that.”

Hyunwoo, seated in the passenger seat, glances back at him. “Don’t worry, Hyungwon-ah. I think if we try to make it clear to him we all want him to have the skates, he’ll accept them.”

Hyungwon hopes so.

They pull into the carpark of the building, a lovely modern Japanese restaurant, to discover that Minhyuk and Jooheon are already there. The only one who has yet to arrive is Changkyun, and they get a table while waiting.

Five minutes to six, Changkyun walks into the building. He’s wearing a grey cable knit turtleneck sweater under a brown denim jacket and black pants. He looks cozy, but also expensive. He looks good. 

“There’s the birthday boy,” Jooheon says with a giant grin as Changkyun shuffles towards the table.

Changkyun smiles as Hyunwoo makes room in the booth for him, and his adorable little dimples make his whole face sparkle. Hyungwon, sitting with the box of skates between his feet under the table, feels his heartbeat speed up in anticipation. He absentmindedly touches the necklace at his throat.

“Did you see it started snowing?” Changkyun asks, sitting down. “What a nice birthday surprise.”

Hyungwon glances out the window above their booth; the snow is falling heavier now, and there’s already a light blanket of the stuff on the ground. 

“Leave it to Changkyun to be pleasantly surprised by snow,” Kihyun whispers to Hyungwon. 

He smiles fondly.

* * *

“Come on, just try it!” Jooheon badgers. “Your first sip of alcohol as an adult.”

Changkyun, red in the face but laughing, stares at the glass in front of him. The smallest sip of soju sits in the bottom of the glass. 

“We won’t make you drink any more if you don’t like it,” Kihyun promises. “And you probably won’t like it, but at least you can say you’ve tried it.”

Changkyun glances at Kihyun, but Hyungwon can see him relent; something in his gaze relaxes and he picks up the class. 

“Don’t drink it like a shot,” Hoseok instructs. “Just sip it.”

There’s barely any soju in the glass, not even enough to get him buzzed, but Changkyun still takes a deep breath before drinking the alcohol. When he puts the glass down, his face is screwed up like he’s just been forced to eat a lemon, but then he laughs, and it’s bright and clear and so _free_.

“What do you think?” Hoseok asks, giggling from behind his own glass of soju.

“I hate it,” Changkyun announces around his smile, and the entire table joins him in his fit of laughter. 

Hyungwon doesn’t get the chance to do this very often. There have been countless instances in his life when he’d had to stay at home or stay at the rink while his friends went out and did something fun. He can count on one hand the number of school events he’s ever attended in his _entire_ life. He’d missed his senior prom due to some skating event. It’s the price he’s paid to be where he is now: a national champion, on his way to the World Championships. And most of the time, he’s okay with that.

But times like this, when he’s seated with some of the greatest people he’s ever met, drinking and eating and laughing together like they’re the last people on earth, are tucked away in his mental folder of his best memories. These are the moments that remind him he is human, he has people who care about him, he has people he cares about. The fact that he only gets to have these moments every so often only makes them all the more special.

At half past eight, Hyungwon meets Kihyun’s eyes across the table. Sans Changkyun, they’re all a little buzzed from the alcohol and being in good company and good spirits. But he makes eye contact with Kihyun, and they come to a mutual decision.

“Changkyun-ah,” Hyungwon says, “we got you something.”

He gets the entire table’s attention with those four words. Changkyun blinks in surprise.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, as Hyungwon had known he would.

Hyungwon shakes his head, and pulls out the big box from underneath the table. He passes it to Hyunwoo, who passes it to Changkyun, who takes it with wide eyes.

“Woah, this is huge,” he says. 

He sends a subtle glance in Kihyun’s direction, but Hyungwon doesn’t miss it. Changkyun’s gaze is the slightest bit apprehensive. Kihyun nods gently at him.

“This is from all of us,” Minhyuk says as Changkyun settles the box in his lap.

“ _All_ of you?” Changkyun repeats. He gets six nods in return.

Hyungwon is nervous as Changkyun begins to pull the paper away. He watches intently as Changkyun’s shoulders fall when the paper is all ripped away. He stares at the big blue box in his lap; the Risport logo is printed in white across the top of the box. 

“No,” Changkyun breathes, shaking his head. “Oh my God, tell me this is a joke.”

“Please open the box,” Hyungwon finds himself begging. _Please accept them. Please love them._

Changkyun’s hands are visibly shaking as he lifts the lid of the box, revealing the gorgeous skates inside. Jet black Risport RF3 Pros, with Matrix blades that glitter brilliantly under the bright yellow lights of the restaurant. The crystals inlaid in the ankles of each boot send a winking burst of light flying to the ceiling; the gold Risport logos pressed into each heel finish off the sparkly glow with the perfect golden encore.

Changkyun’s shoulders heave with a sob, and he buries his face into his hands. Hyunwoo, seated directly next to him, puts a comforting hand on Changkyun’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe,” Changkyun cries, “I can’t _believe_ —I don’t understand— _why?_ Why would you—”

But the words are lost in another sob. They sit in silence for a moment, letting him break down, and Hyungwon looks around the table. Kihyun, Hoseok and Hyunwoo are watching Changkyun in concern, but there’s a tiny smile of affection playing on Kihyun’s lips. Hyungwon catches Minhyuk’s eyes across the wood surface. Minhyuk looks a little horrified at the sight of Changkyun in tears, but Hyungwon isn’t all that surprised by this reaction.

“Hyungs… I can’t accept these,” Changkyun finally manages to say, and when he looks up, his eyes and face are red and teary.

“Please accept them,” Hyungwon says earnestly. “We all want you to have them.”

“I _can’t_ —Risport boots and Matrix blades? If you tell me how much they cost, I might be sick.”

“We won’t tell you, then,” Jooheon says with a little chuckle. 

“Hyungs, seriously, I… just tell me why,” Changkyun pleads. “I don’t understand why.”

“Because I was tired of worrying about you breaking an ankle,” Kihyun says with a fond smile.

“Because you deserve them,” Hyungwon says softly.

“I haven’t done _anything_ to deserve these,” Changkyun argues.

“I disagree,” Hoseok says.

“Me, too.” Kihyun agrees.

“Same.” Jooheon says in accordance, and Hyunwoo nods his concurrence.

“I’ve known you for all of two weeks and if anything happened to you, I would die,” Minhyuk says seriously. “We all want you to have those.”

“But I’m not… I’m not a skater like Hyungwon is,” he says weakly. “I’m not competing like he is—”

“But skating is still your passion,” Kihyun interrupts. “You don’t have to compete to be passionate about it. It’s not like you deserve them less just because it’s not your entire life. And I mean it when I say I was tired of worrying about you breaking an ankle. We all know that if you kept trying to practice in your old skates, you’d eventually hurt yourself for real.”

“You deserve to have nice things, Changkyun,” Hyunwoo says earnestly. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Changkyun whimpers. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Hoseok coos. “Just know that we got those for you because we love you and want you to have them.”

“It’s gonna feel so nice not having to tape your ankles every morning.” Kihyun comments good-naturedly.

Changkyun chokes out a watery laugh, and closes the lid of the box, and that’s when Hyungwon knows he’s accepted the gift.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Changkyun says, wiping his eyes.

“Wear them,” Hyungwon says simply. “You can thank us by wearing them.”

Changkyun nods, and swallows before taking a deep breath and setting the box on the floor beside him. Jooheon picks up the bottle of soju in the middle of the table. The bottle, which they’ve all been drinking from, has only a few sips left in it.

“Want some more?” Jooheon asks, already chuckling.

Changkyun bursts into giggles that still sound teary, but to Hyungwon’s surprise, he nods.

“Just a little,” Changkyun says. “I still hate it.”

Jooheon grins, and empties the bottle into Changkyun’s glass.

* * *

The first jump Changkyun throws in his new skates is a flawless triple lutz. The smile doesn’t leave his face all morning.

* * *

February brings rain. It’s still cold, so the days are frozen and rainy and the snow that coats the ground is actually slush. It’s not the pretty kind of winter. It’s the yucky winter, where it’s cold and humid; it’s the kind of winter that makes Hyungwon afraid to go outside and slip on a patch of ice even though his entire life is centered around exactly that.

It’s the nasty kind of winter. And he wakes up on the morning of February eleventh, and his heart is heavy with the knowledge that it is his last practice at Changkyun’s rink before he’ll return to training full time at Taereung.

He walks into the rink area just in time to see Changkyun leap into a triple axel. It’s the first one Hyungwon has seen him throw that is fully rotated, but he falls anyway, and groans as he gets back up, dusting ice from his hips.

“It was fully rotated!” Hyungwon cheers.

Changkyun glances over at him in surprise, and his lips twist into a shy smile. “Finally. Too bad I didn’t land it.”

“I know you can land it.”

They both look up at the sound of a new voice, one that is unfamiliar to Hyungwon. Changkyun, however, is wearing an expression of deep surprise.

“Taemin-ssi!” he exclaims, looking over Hyungwon’s shoulder at someone behind him.

Hyungwon turns, and there he is—Lee Taemin. A three time Korean national champion, one time world champion, and Olympic team member. Hyungwon looks on in fascination as Changkyun gets off the ice, and Taemin pulls him into a tight hug.

“How are you, kiddo?” Taemin asks, a beautiful smile gracing his handsome face.

“I’m… okay,” Changkyun breathes. “How about you? Where’d you go?”

“Ah, I coached abroad for a little while.”

“You weren’t gone very long.”

Taemin shrugs. “I missed Korea. America isn’t the same.”

“America,” Changkyun whistles. He glances over at Hyungwon. “Oh! Taemin, this is—”

“—Chae Hyungwon,” Taemin says with a bright smile. “I know who he is.”

Hyungwon doesn’t even know what to say, so he smiles as naturally as he can as Taemin shakes his hand. The click-clack of blade guards alerts Hyungwon to someone else’s presence, and before he can turn around, Seunghyun’s voice comes from behind him.

“Lee Taemin,” he says, a smile in his tone, “how long has it been?”

“Too long, it seems,” Taemin says with a chuckle. 

The two coaches embrace each other; Hyungwon recalls with some difficulty that they’d competed against each other many times, but had been on the Olympic team on alternating occasions. 

“Are you coaching Changkyun-ah?” Taemin asks incredulously once they pull away.

“Oh, no,” Seunghyun says. “Hyungwon and I are actually based at Taereung. We’re here because our rink has been undergoing quite a few renovations and upgrades.”

“I see,” Taemin says, nodding, then turns to Changkyun. “I’m surprised to see you here, kiddo. I thought you were done.”

“I… couldn’t make myself quit,” Changkyun says.

Taemin gives him a tight, knowing smile. “Your parents don’t know, then?”

Changkyun shakes his head sheepishly. Seunghyun gives Hyungwon a surprised sideways glance. Hyungwon winces; he’d forgotten up until that point that Seunghyun actually doesn’t know Changkyun at all. They’re respectful towards each other, but Seunghyun doesn’t know anything about him or his situation.

Or that Hyungwon spent six hundred thousand won on a new pair of skates for him.

Taemin eyes Changkyun with a look of concern. “Just be careful, okay? You’re not skating in those old Risport Electras, are you?”

“Ah, no,” Changkyun says, gesturing to his feet. “Hyungwon-ssi and his friends gifted me new ones for my birthday.”

This time, Seunghyun and Taemin both swivel around to look at Hyungwon with wide eyes. Seunghyun looks shocked, but Taemin’s expression is full of wonder.

“You bought him new skates, huh?” Taemin asks, glancing down at Changkyun’s feet. “A good friend you’ve got here, Kyun-ah.”

Changkyun turns pink. “Believe me,” he says, “I know.”

* * *

Seunghyun’s eyes linger on Hyungwon all morning, but he doesn’t talk to Hyungwon about the skates until Changkyun vanishes into the bathroom after an hour of practice.

“You _bought_ him new _skates_?” he demands.

“My friends and his friends pitched in,” Hyungwon defends.

“You bought him new skates.” Seunghyun sighs. “Hyungwon, what did Taemin mean when he said, ‘be careful’?”

“It’s not my story to tell, coach,” Hyungwon says honestly. “I don’t know how Changkyun would feel about me telling you without his permission.”

Seunghyun looks at him deeply, as if contemplating. “Okay… fair enough. Answer me this, though: he’s not being abused, is he?”

Hyungwon sighs. “Not physically. At least, I think so. Either way, he’s nineteen now. There wouldn’t be anything you could do.”

“I was going to ask him if he’d like to be a student to me,” Seunghyun says abruptly.

Now it’s Hyungwon’s turn to look at him with wide eyes. “You were?”

Seunghyun nods dourly. “He’s a good skater. With the right training, he could easily be where you are.” His gaze flicks to the bathroom door, where Changkyun had gone. “But the conversation earlier made it clear to me his parents don’t know he’s skating.”

“They… don’t,” Hyungwon says sadly. “They don’t support his passion. That’s why I wanted to get him the skates. I knew he couldn’t afford new ones, and he’d die before asking his parents for new ones because they don’t know he still skates. They think he stopped when he came to university. He used to pay himself Taemin for coaching.”

Seunghyun whistles. “That’s really unfortunate.”

Hyungwon nods. They don’t get another chance to talk more, though, because Changkyun leaves the bathroom at that moment and rejoins them on the ice. As he glides across the surface, pulling his blade guards off, he smiles wanly at Hyungwon.

“Last day, huh?” Changkyun asks.

“Don’t remind me,” Hyungwon sighs. “I’m already so used to being here.”

 _I’m so used to seeing you,_ is what he doesn’t say.

“Yeah, but now you won’t have to get up at three in the morning every day to practice,” Changkyun says. “You can go back to afternoon practices.”

“Changkyun-ssi,” Seunghyun says suddenly.

Changkyun looks at him in surprise. 

“Would you mind showing me your triple axel?”

He blinks, and after a cautious glance at Hyungwon, he nods. “Er, sure.”

He skates away. Hyungwon watches him just as carefully as Seunghyun does. He leaps into his axel; it’s fully rotated, but he lands deeply on the outside edge of his blade and steps out of the landing, barely managing to keep himself from falling.

“Did you ever work on these with Taemin?” Seunghyun asks curiously as Changkyun comes near again.

Changkyun shakes his head, clearly a bit bewildered. “It was the one triple jump he never got to teach me.”

“So you’ve essentially taught yourself a triple axel.”

Hyungwon is blown away. Changkyun nods.

“It’s not bad,” Seunghyun says. “It was fully rotated, which is always the biggest concern with triple axels. When you land, though, you’re landing on the outside edge of your blade because you’re tilted in the air. Not dangerously so, of course, but still tilted. You’re tilted because you’re driving with your left shoulder rather than your right. You’re rotating before you leave the ice.”

It’s the same advice Hyungwon had been given when he was learning his own triple axel. Changkyun listens intently. Hyungwon looks between the two of them in surprise. This was the absolute last thing he’d been expecting.

“Try again, and make sure when you leave the ice you’re hitting the toe pick and your right shoulder is leading,” Seunghyun says.

Hyungwon looks at his coach, trying to catch his eye, but Seunghyun’s attention is firmly on Changkyun. Hyungwon watches as Changkyun jumps the axel again, and the correction is noticable—with less shoulder action from the left half of his body, not only does he land the jump: it’s a clean, beautiful axel.

“Woo!” Hyungwon cheers, clapping. 

Seunghyun nods in satisfaction as Changkyun skates back over, a huge, dimpled smile on his face.

“Thank you,” Changkyun says breathlessly. “Really, thank you. I’ve been trying forever to get this jump.”

“Now you have all six triples!” Hyungwon grins excitedly. Changkyun laughs.

Seunghyun smiles. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m sure you know that Hyungwon is my only pupil,” he says. “I’ve known him for years, but it’s always just been him and me. I was going to ask if you’d like to become a student of mine.”

Changkyun looks at him in shock. “You… do you mean that?”

“I do,” Seunghyun says. “However, this morning’s conversation with your former coach brought to my attention that your parents are not… well, if I were to be your coach it would have to be a secret endeavor.”

Changkyun nods sadly; the smile is gone. “I wouldn’t be able to compete, either. I don’t know what my parents would do if they found out. I also fear that I wouldn’t be able to pay you for your coaching.”

That had been another one of Hyungwon’s personal concerns; Seunghyun coaches exclusively at the professional level, and that means he is an expensive coach. Hyungwon is fortunate enough to have come from a well-off family, so his family’s support plus the money he makes from company sponsorships are more than enough to cover the cost of Seunghyun’s coaching.

Seunghyun gives a grim nod. “I see. It’s unfortunate that that is the case, because I can tell you’re passionate and brave. If there ever comes a point where things change… just give me a call. My offer still stands.”

Changkyun smiles, though it’s so tight it looks more like a grimace. “Thank you, Seunghyun.”

Hyungwon glances at the clock. It’s nearing eight forty-five, which is when Changkyun usually gets off the ice to get ready for classes. It hits Hyungwon like a kick to the stomach that this is the last time he’ll see Changkyun, probably for a while. Before he knows what he’s doing, he brings Changkyun into a tight hug.

Changkyun stiffens, then relaxes a little. “Hyung?”

“Don’t forget me,” Hyungwon says.

Changkyun laughs, bright and loud.

“As if I could forget you, hyung.”

* * *

They make plans to hang out during the upcoming weekend. Hyungwon won’t let Changkyun out of his life that easily.

* * *

It’s the evening of March fifth when Hyungwon gets the phone call. The World Championships are exactly two weeks away. He’s only been off the ice for about an hour; he’s barely walking into his apartment and hanging his coat when his phone rings. He sighs, pulling the device out of his coat pocket. His feet hurt, he’s tired, he’s sore, he just wants to sleep—

He freezes when he sees Kihyun’s contact alight on his screen. What could Kihyun of all people possibly want now?

He answers the phone without another moment’s hesitation. “Kihyun?”

_“Have you heard from Changkyun?”_

On the other end of the line, Kihyun sounds breathless. The ripping of wind in a receiver tears into Hyungwon’s ear, indicating that wherever Kihyun is, he’s outside, but it’s Kihyun’s words that have him rooted to the spot he stands on.

“What do you mean, have I heard from him?” Hyungwon demands. “What happened? Where is he?”

 _“We don’t know,”_ Kihyun breathes. _“I don’t know how it happened, but—his parents found out. They found out he still skates, that he has new skates—they know about everything.”_

Hyungwon’s heart stops.

_“We haven’t been able to contact him for an hour. He texted us telling us he needed help, that his parents know everything, but he turned his location off and he wasn’t at his dorm when we went to go check. We’ve split up; there’s no way he could have gotten off the campus in an hour, but we don’t know where he is. I need your help.”_

“I’m on my way,” Hyungwon says, immediately reaching for the coat he’d shucked off only minutes ago. “Where should I check first?”

 _“I’m at the library,”_ Kihyun says, and on the other end of the line Hyungwon can hear the squeak of a door being opened. Kihyun’s voice drops to a whisper. _“Hoseok is checking our coffee place. Last I heard, Hyunwoo was going to the mall. There’s a lot of places he might be, Hyungwon.”_

“I’ll get Minhyuk and Jooheon in on it, too,” Hyungwon says, slamming his apartment door behind him. 

_“We’ll find him, Hyungwon.”_

“I hope so,” Hyungwon breathes.

He hangs up with Kihyun and as he steps into the elevator, dials Jooheon’s number. When he doesn’t pick up, he dials Minhyuk, who answers on the second ring.

_“Hyungwon? Jooheon couldn’t come to the phone, he’s driving—”_

“I know, and I’m really sorry for interrupting your date, but we have a serious issue,” Hyungwon says, and flinches against the cold as he pushes through the door to the apartment complex into the chilly March air.

 _“What’s going on?”_ Minhyuk asks, alert immediately.

“Changkyun is missing,” Hyungwon bites. “Can you come get me? We—I need to help look for him.”

 _“Oh, God,”_ Minhyuk gasps. _“Of course we’ll come. We’re passing by your building anyway—Jooheon, go to Hyungwon’s complex, something is wrong—tell me what happened, Hyungwon.”_

“His parents found out about everything,” Hyungwon says miserably. “About the skates, about how he still practices—everything.”

 _“No way,”_ Minhyuk mumbles.

“Yeah. We need to find him and help him,” Hyungwon says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Kihyun says he couldn’t have gotten off the campus, meaning he’s still by his university, but it’s a huge campus and there’s only three of them. They need our help.”

_“Where have they looked?”_

“His dorm, the library, the coffee shop, the on-campus mall,” Hyungwon lists. 

He glances up when something moves into his peripheral; Jooheon’s jet black Lexus pulls up to the curb. Hyungwon hangs up as the car rolls to a stop, and as soon as the doors are unlocked, he slides into the backseat.

“None of them have been to the rink yet?” Minhyuk asks as Hyungwon buckles his seatbelt.

“I guess not,” Hyungwon realizes aloud. He barely resists the urge to smack himself on the head. The rink seems the most obvious option. “He might not be there, but it’s worth a shot.”

Behind the wheel, Jooheon nods firmly, shifting the car into gear. “Still remember how to get there?”

* * *

It’s late when they get to the rink, but Seunghyun had been right—it seems it’s a terribly popular hangout spot for college students. The place is packed.

Hyungwon tucks his face into his mask, desperate to be overlooked. He knows he’ll be recognized by anyone who bothers to give him more than a second’s glance, and if they’re to try to find Changkyun in the crowd, he can’t risk it.

“Let’s split up,” Minhyuk says once they’re all out of the car, surveying the crowded building. “Keep your ringers on. Use the group chat if you find him.”

Hyungwon ducks into the locker room. It seems to be the only part of the building not swarming with students, but that’s disappointing because it is entirely empty. He checks all the stalls, even opens some of the bigger lockers, and Changkyun is nowhere to be found. 

The ice is all bitten and scratched up by a crowd of easily over fifty people on its surface, and Hyungwon spends maybe five minutes watching the people as they skate by, scanning everyone’s faces for the familiar long nose. Perhaps Changkyun has taken advantage of all the people, and blended himself in. Hyungwon wouldn’t put it past him.

He doesn’t realize how fast he’s walking until he slams into someone petite and plump.

“Oh!” the person squeals.

Hyungwon’s heart leaps. Anjong.

“Hyungwon-ssi!” she yelps.

“Shhh!” Hyungwon hushes her, waving his hands. “Anjong-ssi, I’m sorry I bumped into you—I just need to know—have you seen Changkyun?”

Anjong looks at him in concern. “Changkyun? Not since this morning. Why?”

Not since this morning? That means he’s not at the rink at all. Hyungwon sighs.

“We… can’t find him,” Hyungwon admits. “Something happened. We’re trying to track him down.”

Anjong’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, dear. I’ll keep an eye out for him, okay? I’ll call you if he shows up.”

“Thank you, Anjong-ssi…”

He meets Jooheon and Minhyuk back outside; neither of them had found Changkyun either. Hyungwon sends a text to Kihyun to tell him they’d checked the rink, but had no luck finding him. Cold, dejected, and increasingly stressed out, he frantically messages Seunghyun, because he has no idea what to do. 

**_Hyungwon:_ ** _Seunghyun we might have to reschedule evening practice today_

 **_Coach Seunghyun:_ ** _What’s going on?_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _Changkyun has gone missing. I’m helping his friends look for him_

 **_Coach Seunghyun:_ ** _Oh no_

 **_Coach Seunghyun:_ ** _Do you need help? Is there anything I can do?_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _I don’t think so_

 **_Hyungwon:_ ** _We just need_ **_|_ **

Before he has a chance to finish typing, his phone buzzes in his frozen hands with an incoming call. His heart jumps into his mouth when he registers the caller, and hurries to answer.

“Changkyun-ah?” he gasps.

Jooheon and Minhyuk turn around in their seats, wide-eyed.

 _“Hyung,”_ Changkyun says on the other end of the line. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been crying.

“Changkyun, where are you?”

_“Do you remember the restaurant you guys took me to for my birthday?”_

“That’s where you are?”

_“I’m outside.”_

“We’re on our way,” Hyungwon says firmly, mouthing to Jooheon to take them to the Japanese restaurant. “Just hang in there, okay? Do you want me to stay on the line?”

_“No, that’s okay.”_

He hangs up before Hyungwon can reply.

* * *

As soon as the car is pulled up to the side of the restaurant, Hyungwon fumbles to get out. When he notices neither Minhyuk nor Jooheon are moving, he looks at them in confusion.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asks, a little breathless.

Jooheon and Minhyuk glance at each other.

“I think you should be the one to talk to him,” Jooheon says, and Minhyuk nods.

Hyungwon doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but he nods and gets out anyway. He sees Changkyun pretty much immediately; he’s seated, alone, at a table towards the door to the restaurant. 

“Changkyunnie?”

He glances up as Hyungwon approaches, and as soon as his eyes land on Hyungwon, they fill with tears. He gets to his feet, but before he can say anything, Hyungwon pulls him into a tight hug. 

Changkyun relaxes in his arms, and eventually Hyungwon can feel the collar of his coat soaking through with the kid’s tears, but he doesn’t let go.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Hyungwon asks when Changkyun finally pulls away.

Changkyun sniffles, eyes red and puffy. “Someone I go to university with overheard me talking to Kihyun about my new skates. He… I guess his parents know mine, because the story got from him to them. My mom called me during class and left a voicemail demanding to know if I still skate. I can’t lie. I don’t want to hide this anymore, hyung.”

“I’m sorry, Kyun,” Hyungwon says sadly. “I’m sorry you have to hide it. That’s not fair to you.”

“She… she sounded so angry.” Changkyun whispers. “I just don’t understand why they won’t let me be happy. I know this is how I am the happiest… why can’t they let me do it? I don’t even—I don’t even want to compete. If I could just stop having to practice in secret…”

“Did you talk to them?” Hyungwon asks, taking his hand. He tries not to think about how, despite the freezing temperature, Changkyun’s hands are warm and soft.

Changkyun shakes his head. “She told me to call her, but… I’m not that brave. I don’t think I can do it. I don’t want to hear what they have to say to me. I’m just stuck, hyung. I can’t disobey them because then they won’t pay for university, but I can’t just not skate. I have to have something that makes me happy, too.”

“It’s not unfair to want to be happy,” Hyungwon says. “Why don’t I talk to your parents? I’m the one who bought the skates, after all…”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, hyung,” Changkyun says suddenly, looking at Hyungwon with wide eyes.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Changkyun says quietly. 

His grip tightens on Hyungwon’s hand and Hyungwon sucks in a breath. He forces himself to look Changkyun in the eyes as Changkyun’s gaze finds his own; his gaze is serious and intense.

“Promise me you won’t get involved,” he says sincerely. “I’ve handled this situation before. I can do it again.”

“I promise,” Hyungwon lies.

* * *

After texting Kihyun to let him know Changkyun is safe, Jooheon drives Changkyun towards his dorm, which is halfway across the campus. Hyungwon accompanies him as far as the door to the building before Changkyun turns to him, stopping in his tracks.

“Hyung,” he says seriously. “I… I want to thank you.”

“For what?” Hyungwon says, raising an eyebrow.

“For becoming my friend,” Changkyun says quietly. “I never expected to wake up the week after Nationals and meet you. I’m just… life has been really hard. I’m glad someone decided to give me you.”

“Changkyun,” Hyungwon says, touched. He blinks fervently to keep his own eyes from leaking. “I’m glad I met you, too. I want you to know—”

“Changkyun.”

Changkyun freezes. He looks past Hyungwon and his face drains of color.

“Mom?” he stammers.

Hyungwon whirls around. A thin, small woman in a red parka is stalking towards them. Her hair, greying black locks that fall to her shoulders, is half pulled up by a jade clip. A Louis Vuitton crossbody bag rests at her hip. Her eyes are cold. Her face is thunderous.

Behind her, a tall man is following closely behind. His face is wide and long, like Changkyun’s—Hyungwon instantly sees the resemblance. The only difference is that on a normal day, Changkyun radiates happiness and passion, and Changkyun’s parents look as though someone has vacuumed all the warmth from their bodies.

Neither of them pay any attention to Hyungwon. They storm towards Changkyun, advancing like final bosses in those video games Minhyuk is always playing. Hyungwon grabs Changkyun by the wrist.

The action is not unnoticed by Changkyun’s mother, who gives him a brutal glare, looking him up and down.

“And who are you?” she demands.

“I’m his friend,” Hyungwon says. “Chae Hyungwon.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Chae Hyungwon? And what right do you have, interfering with this?”

“This is between us,” Changkyun’s father agrees.

Hyungwon glances to his left. Jooheon and Minhyuk have caught on to what is happening and they stand near Jooheon’s parked Lexus, watching apprehensively in case they feel the need to get involved.

Changkyun tugs on his hand. When Hyungwon looks back at him, he shakes his head.

“If you’re here because of the skates, you should know that I bought them for him,” Hyungwon says boldly.

Behind him, Changkyun sighs. Changkyun’s parents look at each other in surprise.

“They were a birthday present,” Hyungwon continues. “If there’s anyone you should be angry with, it’s me.”

“And why would you buy my son a pair of six hundred thousand won skates?” Changkyun’s mother asks icily.

“Because he was tired of worrying about me breaking an ankle,” Changkyun speaks up at last. “I didn’t throw away my old skates when I left for college. In fact, I specifically chose this university because it had a rink on the campus. I skate every morning from five to nine. Even without a coach.”

“We told you to stop skating.” Changkyun’s father seethes. “It’s a useless hobby. Five to nine? You could use that time for something worthwhile.”

“But it’s not a useless hobby,” Hyungwon says. 

Changkyun holds up his hand. Hyungwon falls silent, and watches as Changkyun steps forward, squaring his shoulders.

“I’ve been afraid of you for so long,” Changkyun says softly. “But why should I have to live in fear of my own parents? You should be supporting me, not tearing me down. Skating is my biggest passion, mom. It really is. And I can live with going to college as a physics major, getting a research job—I can do all of that as long as I can still skate.”

His parents stare at him. There’s not an ounce of warmth in either of their gazes, but Changkyun looks at them bravely.

“Give me one more chance,” he begs, “to show you what it means to me. One more chance. That’s all I ask.”

Changkyun’s parents look at each other again. There’s a moment of silent communication. Changkyun fidgets; Hyungwon puts a hand on his shoulder. 

Finally, his mother looks at him. Her gaze is still steely. But she nods.

“One chance.”

* * *

Changkyun rides with Jooheon, Minhyuk and Hyungwon while Changkyun’s parents follow behind in their car. During the trip, Hyungwon texts Kihyun to ask him to tell Anjong they’ll be coming back, and that they need the ice for a few minutes. He doesn’t get a response, but he knows Kihyun has read the message. 

They arrive at the rink to find Kihyun, Hoseok, and Hyunwoo already waiting with Anjong. As soon as Anjong sees Changkyun, she vanishes into the building, and Changkyun’s friends watch his parents apprehensively. Hyungwon has to admit, he’s uncomfortable in their presence; they seem to drain the light from any situation.

As they walk into the rink, Anjong is talking over the loudspeaker, asking the crowd of people to clear the ice. Changkyun’s parents head towards the terrace, following Kihyun, Hoseok, Hyunwoo, Jooheon and Minhyuk, while Hyungwon takes Changkyun by the hand and pulls him into the locker room.

Hyungwon watches quietly as Changkyun pulls his skates on. The atmosphere in the locker room is tense. 

“I asked you not to get involved,” Changkyun says softly, lacing up his left skate.

Hyungwon’s heart sinks a little. “I’m sorry. I should have stayed quiet.”

Changkyun doesn’t respond. 

“I’m proud of you, though.”

“For what?”

“For standing up to them,” Hyungwon says. “You’re being brave. I know that if you go out there and show your parents the routine you’ve shown me, it’ll be the best thing they’ve ever seen. If this doesn’t convince them… I’ll never bring it up again.”

“If this doesn’t convince them, I don’t know what will happen,” Changkyun says, finally looking at Hyungwon. “I might never be able to see you again.”

Hyungwon’s heart aches at that idea. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I think this was a bad idea,” Changkyun says miserably.

“I never said this was a good idea,” Hyungwon says slowly. “But if you don’t go out there and show them what you can do, they won’t understand that this means the world to you.”

“I’ve tried to show them,” Changkyun bites back. 

“I’m proud of you for trying. One more chance, Changkyun.”

Changkyun sighs as he works at the laces of his right skate. “We’ll see how it goes.”

And he falls silent. Hyungwon fidgets, biting his lip. There’s a lot he wants to say to him, but now doesn’t seem like the time. Words rest on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill forth, but he bites them back, knowing that Changkyun needs a minute to prepare himself.

Eventually Changkyun stands back up, pulls his sweatshirt off to reveal his black athletic top. He pulls his gloves and blade guards on, and Hyungwon gets a full look at him: black Nike t-shirt, black track pants, black skates, dark purple blade guards, black gloves. With his head of dark hair, he looks like a shadow. A very attractive, handsome shadow.

Hyungwon gives him a smile. Changkyun tries to return it.

* * *

“Please welcome to the ice, Lim Changkyun.”

Anjong’s voice echoes through the arena; there’s some scattered applause from the bewildered college students crowded around the ice. Changkyun skates to the center of the rink. From where he’s standing by the stereo, Hyungwon glances up to his right. Changkyun’s parents are up on the terrace, watching. They’re just far enough away that Hyungwon can’t read their expressions.

He catches Minhyuk’s eye. Minhyuk and Jooheon are standing close together, and both look rather nervous.

Movement in his peripheral vision has Hyungwon looking at the far right side of the arena. In a doorway to the staff room, in between the girls’ and boys’ locker rooms, Lee Taemin stands, watching. His arms are folded over his chest, eyes intently trained on Changkyun. He gives Hyungwon a brief nod by way of greeting when he catches him looking, but fixes his gaze back on Changkyun quickly.

Hyungwon looks at Changkyun, who is now in his starting position. Changkyun looks at him, nods very slightly.

Hyungwon presses play on the music.

_Hello darkness, my old friend_

_I’ve come to talk with you again_

From the very first piano keys, Changkyun has the audience entranced. The college students, who had been unaware as to why they’d been asked off the ice, now watch him intently.

_Because a vision softly creeping_

_Left its seeds while I was sleeping_

Hyungwon can tell right away that Changkyun is putting his everything into this particular performance. His movements are fluid and graceful, perfectly in time with the music.

_And the vision, that was planted in my brain_

_Still remains_

_Within the sound of silence_

His first jump is a double axel, but he shocks Hyungwon when he throws a triple instead. 

_In restless dreams, I walked alone_

_Narrow streets of cobblestone_

Hyungwon bites his lip to keep from shouting out in glee when he lands the jump solidly. The captivated university students ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh.’

_‘Neath the halo of a streetlamp_

_I turned my collar to the cold and damp_

Changkyun lands his next three jumps cleanly and with stunning accuracy, full rotation and no blade assistance at all. 

_When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light_

_That split the night_

_And touched the sound of silence_

His triple lutz is flawless in his new skates. It was flawless before, but the skates really complete the skill.

_And in the naked light I saw, ten thousand people_

_Maybe more_

His technique on his triple loop could use some work, but that’s not what Hyungwon is focused on right now—he’s focused on how Changkyun moves, how he glides, how he dances. 

_People talking without speaking_

_People hearing without listening_

He’s dancing. Hyungwon has never seen anything so beautiful.

_People writing songs that voices never share_

_And no one dare_

_Disturb the sound of silence_

His triple toe loop-euler-triple salchow combination is perfect; he follows this with another double axel-triple toe. 

_‘Fools,’ said I, ‘you do not know’_

_‘Silence like a cancer grows’_

As Changkyun glides by him, fully immersed in the music, Hyungwon notices how at ease he seems. As if he’s not been forced to skate for his life by his parents. 

_‘Hear my words that I might teach you’_

_‘Take my arms and I might reach you’_

He’s skating as though there’s nothing at stake, even though everything is at stake.

_But my words, like silent raindrops, fell_

Hyungwon’s personal favorite move of Changkyun’s comes before Hyungwon can blink: a layback Ina Bauer. Compared to Hyungwon, Changkyun has excellent flexibility, and as he bends backwards, arms outstretched, his feet split apart in the signature fashion, he makes eye contact with Hyungwon, and he smiles upside down.

_And echoed in the wells_

_Of silence_

And that’s the moment Hyungwon realizes he loves him.

_And the people bowed and prayed_

_To the neon God they made_

His final jump, a triple flip, has the whole audience erupting into astonished applause. 

_And the sign flashed out its warning_

Hyungwon is breathless. He feels like crying, but the tears won’t come.

_In the words that it was forming_

Changkyun goes flying into his final spin combination. Backwards camel, then catch-foot spin.

_And the sign said, ‘the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls’_

_‘And tenement halls’_

Illusion spin. Change foot, side sit spin. 

_And whispered in the sound of silence_

He stands back up as the piano fades, then gets down on one knee, one arm reaching for the audience. His chest is heaving. 

The music ends and the applause replaces it. It’s almost as though Changkyun had been on the world stage, performing for the huge audience of an international competition. 

Hyungwon doesn’t realize he’s crying until he glances up at the terrace and sees Changkyun’s father’s retreating back. Changkyun’s mother follows him out.

“Hyung, why are you crying?”

He looks back at Changkyun, and then has to look away.

“Because that was beautiful,” Hyungwon sobs, “and because I love you.”

He expects Changkyun to gasp, or startle, or otherwise be surprised, but Changkyun just giggles, and he sounds teary himself. Hyungwon suddenly feels his warmth; Changkyun’s wiry arms wind around his torso, and Hyungwon rests his forehead on Changkyun’s shoulders.

“Your parents…” he chokes out.

“I don’t care about them right now,” Changkyun says. “Just let me be here with you.”

So Hyungwon does.

* * *

“Mrs. Lim?”

Changkyun’s parents turn as Taemin jogs towards them. He’s a bit breathless from taking the stairs three at a time in his haste to catch up to them. 

“Hi,” Taemin says with an easy smile, “maybe you remember me. I’m Taemin. I used to coach your son.”

“And what do you want?” his father says coldly.

Taemin forces himself to keep smiling. “I was hoping to make one last appeal to your son’s case. I’m not sure what you’re thinking right now…”

“We are thinking that this is silly,” his mother says. “He’s good, yes, but he should focus on more important things.”

Taemin’s heart sinks. “But he is so passionate about it.”

“He should be passionate about his college career.”

“You can’t change what he loves, Mrs. Lim, and you can’t force him to like something,” Taemin says calmly. “From personal experience, forcing your child to do something else only makes them more likely to disobey. Nothing good ever comes from valuing a child’s future over their own passion.”

“He’s not a child.” Mr. Lim says. “He is an adult.”

“All the more reason to let him be,” Taemin points out. “It is incredibly demoralizing when your own parents are unsupportive of your dreams. If I’m not mistaken, you have not just one, but _two_ sons who can prove that.”

Neither of them say anything. Taemin continues speaking.

“If you wouldn’t mind, would you please allow me to understand why you are so apprehensive to allow your son to follow his dreams?” Taemin asks.

“We worry about our sons’ ability to live on their own,” Mrs. Lim says at last. “Both of my children’s interests lie in the arts, and these days it is so hard to make a living out of those careers. They… we want them to have careers that can support them financially. There will come a time when we cannot support them financially.”

Alarm bells go off in Taemin’s head. That had never been the case when Changkyun was growing up; his father is a well esteemed biotechnologist. He’d never thought that money would be the cause of this.

“I don’t know what your son’s plans are, or how he will choose to allay your fears, but I believe in trust, and I believe in him,” Taemin says placatingly. “Changkyun is remarkably bright. He is driven, and he is very talented. You didn’t hear this from me, but I’m not the only coach who is willing to take him in as a student. With his talent, and his ability to be coached and willingness to learn, he is one of my favorite, most memorable students. I know that with your support, he will continue to achieve greatness. I just know it.”

Again, they’re both silent. Mrs. Lim bites her lip; Taemin can see her resolve crumbling a little. 

Taemin opens his mouth to say something else, but running footsteps interrupt him and Changkyun appears at the top of the stairs, wearing his trainers, half unlaced, and pulling his jacket on. Hyungwon is hot on his heels. Behind them, the doors to the terrace open, and the rest of their friends step into the lobby, watching silently.

“Wait, Mum,” Changkyun pants. “Just wait.”

He freezes when he makes eye contact with Taemin. Taemin gives him a gentle smile. His expression turns confused.

“Changkyun,” Mr. Lim says. His voice sounds serious, but his eyes are a bit soft. “Your mother and I have checked out a hotel room a few minutes away from the campus. Will you join us there? We have… much to discuss.”

Changkyun swallows. He glances behind him at Hyungwon, and the older skater nods fervently.

“Yeah,” Changkyun says, apprehension coloring his tone. “Yeah. Okay.”

* * *

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _Can you meet me at our restaurant? I need to talk to you._

Hyungwon’s heart jumps into his throat when he reads the text. 

“What is it?” Seunghyun asks, watching him in concern.

“Changkyun texted me,” Hyungwon says.

Seunghyun’s eyebrows raise. “You said he talked to his parents? How did it go?”

“I don’t know. He wants to meet me at our restaurant on his campus,” Hyungwon says. 

Seunghyun pauses, glancing at the clock. They’ve only been at practice for an hour. Hyungwon meets his gaze evenly. They’re leaving for Worlds in a week. Can he risk missing this practice?

“This is up to you, Hyungwon,” Seunghyun says levelly.

Hyungwon makes the decision quickly. 

“Can we extend our practice tomorrow?” he asks.

Seunghyun nods. Hyungwon sighs in relief.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “I really appreciate it.”

“I was young and in love once,” Seunghyun says. “Don’t miss an opportunity that is presented to you, kid.”

Hyungwon nods. Seunghyun gives him a smile.

* * *

He makes it to the restaurant in record time. To his surprise, though, Changkyun isn’t outside. 

**_Hyungwon:_ ** _I’m here, where are you?_

 **_Changkyunnie:_ ** _Our booth_

Oh, Hyungwon could definitely get used to calling that little nook of a booth ‘theirs.’ He heads inside, and after greeting the hostess and telling her he’s meeting someone, he wanders towards the table in the back of the restaurant.

Changkyun is seated there, alone, a glass of water on the table in front of him. The booth, a circular thing in a hole in the wall, is meant to seat at least eight people, so he looks quite alone among the cushions, but he smiles that beautiful dimpled smile when he makes eye contact with Hyungwon.

“Hi,” he says.

“How did it go?” Hyungwon says, sliding into the seat adjacent to Changkyun.

Changkyun pouts. “Come sit next to me.”

Hyungwon blinks in surprise, but hurries to obey. He joins Changkyun on the other side of the table, and then fixes him with an intense stare.

“Well?” he prompts.

Changkyun is quiet.

“You’re killing me with the suspense.”

“They’re gonna let me train with Taemin,” he says. “Taemin has been employed at my rink.”

Hyungwon’s eyes widen. “That’s… that’s wonderful! They really came around?”

“They still want me to go through university,” Changkyun continues. “We made a deal. If I can get through undergrad as a physics major and maintain good grades, they’ll pay Taemin for coaching.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Hyungwon says. He’s ecstatic, but Changkyun’s reaction is very mellow.

Changkyun leans on his shoulder. Hyungwon feels as though his touch has electrocuted him. 

“I’m so happy,” Changkyun breathes. 

Hyungwon grins. He sucks in a breath when Changkyun grabs his right hand, resting on the table, and laces their fingers together. 

They turn to each other at the same time, and their lips meet. 

Hyungwon can’t believe this. It’s something straight out of a movie: he and Changkyun are tucked away, hidden in the back of a restaurant, sharing their first kiss over a glass of water.

They pull away, and Changkyun smiles shyly.

“All my life, I’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted given to me on a silver platter,” Hyungwon says breathlessly. “And I’ve never been as grateful for anything I’ve been given as I am for you.”

“That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” Changkyun says, and his face turns adorably pink. “I don’t even know what to say.”

They laugh together. Changkyun nuzzles into Hyungwon; Hyungwon kisses the crown of Changkyun’s head. 

Two weeks later, Hyungwon returns to Korea from the World Championships with a silver medal. He thinks the kiss he receives once he meets Changkyun at the airport is a much better gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple of things!!  
> 1) I'm thinking about opening this one shot book to requests for Seventeen, as well. _Please_ let me know what you think about this in the comments. I've started to fall in love with them and I think writing them would be a blast, but I'm only going to do it if my readers are on board.  
> 2) ALSO, starting from now I will no longer be uploading requests in the order I receive them, but in the order I want to write them. I really like all the requests I've gotten but sometimes I'll be writing one and get an idea for another and it's kind of hard to keep those at bay.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!


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